#stray kids scenarios

[justastraymoa]

Awww so sweet!

Laptop Delivery - Bang Chan

Practice got a little more eventful thanks to an forgotten laptop.

It was a peaceful morning. Fresh from your shower, you padded into your kitchen, planning to grab a quick breakfast before heading to uni. But something on the counter stopped you in your tracks – Chris' laptop.  

Your heart sank. He’d stayed over last night but had to leave early for dance practice. The sight of his laptop sitting on the counter screamed trouble. Normally, he wouldn’t bring it over – it was too precious, filled with tracks, demos, and other vital material for the group. You knew his schedule was packed, and forgetting something this important could only mean bad news.

You snapped a picture of it and sent it to him with the caption:

"Forgot something?”

Still, you couldn’t shake the thought that it might be much more important. Without hesitation, you called him, even though you knew he was at practice.  

After a few rings, he picked up, slightly breathless. "Hey, baby. I’m… kinda at practice right now – what’s up?"  

"Did you leave your laptop here on purpose?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.  

"What?" His voice was sharp with confusion. "No, I thought I— wait, let me check the picture you send me."  

A muffled curse followed as realization hit. "Oh shit, no. I’ve got a meeting with some producers right after practice. I can’t believe I left it there." His tone was laced with stress.  

Chris hesitated. "I—" he started, then stopped himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He was probably considering rushing back to your place after practice, which would make him late for the meeting. Worse, you wouldn’t even be there to open the door since you'd already be at uni by then.

"I… could… bring it to you," you offered cautiously, knowing what value the device had to the group.  

"Really? Would that be possible?" His voice softened, a mixture of relief and guilt.  

"Yeah, but I’d have to leave now. I still have uni today," you said, already moving to grab your things.  

"Ah, that's amazing. You're an angel," he said warmly. "I’ll text you the room number."  

Skipping breakfast, you grabbed his laptop and headed out. On the way, you planned to stop by a bakery for something quick after the delivery, before heading straight to class.  

-----

At the JYP building, you knocked lightly on the practice room door, despite Chris’ text saying you could walk right in. The door opened to reveal Felix, his face lighting up with a grin.  

"Hey!" he greeted, pulling you into a quick hug.  

"Hi, Lix," you replied with a small smile. From across the room, Chris’s head shot up, his eyes locking on you. Relief and affection softened his expression as he quickly made his way towards you.  

"Hey," he murmured, stopping just in front of you.  

"Hi," you replied, reaching into your bag to pull out his laptop. As soon as the sleek silver device emerged, the room fell silent.  

The members froze, eyes wide. It wasn’t just a laptop to them; they knew what was inside – tracks, demos, lyrics, everything. The fact that you were holding it was proof of something bigger: the trust Chris had in you.

But before anyone could speak, Chris gently pulled you into the room, his fingers brushing your cheeks as he softly pulled your mask down.  

And then, he kissed you.  

It was natural, familia – something the two of you had done countless times before. But here, in the quiet practice room, with – unbeknownst to you – all eyes on you, it felt different. His lips were warm and soft, a silent expression of gratitude and love.  

The members didn’t move, still processing what they were seeing. None of them had expected this. Sure, they knew how much Chris cared about you, but seeing it displayed so openly caught them off guard.  

When he finally pulled back, his ears burned red, and he muttered a sheepish "I’ll call you later, okay? Thanks again.”, as he took the laptop from your hands.  

You, cheeks blazing, barely managed a nod as you stepped back. The silence lingered for a beat longer before you mumbled, Y-yeah. Bye, everyone.”

You turned and left, closing the door behind you.  

The moment the door clicked shut, chaos erupted.  

"YAH, HYUNG!"  

"I can't believe you just did that!"

"PDA MUCH?!”

"Channie hyung, what was that?!"

"Wow, so smooth. Too bad your ears give you away."  

Outside, you heard the screaming teasing very clearly and couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks still burning as you walked down the hallway. Chris could handle the teasing – he brought it upon himself after all.  

masterlist

[seungfl0wer]

*𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕*

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Super Fluffy Smut

Warnings: Oral (M), Unprotected sex, Creampie, Riding, lots of sweet words. I think that’s really it. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings.

This was request. Using prompts from my first list 36 “I got this for you” and 58 “Can I sit here?”

-🖤

Hyunjin has been working his ass off. With comeback, promotions and just everyday life of an idol. He still in all the chaos finds time to make you feel loved and appreciated.

You wanted to do something special for him something to show him how well he’s been doing. How much you appreciated everything and all his efforts. So you ordered a pretty lingerie set. It was lacy, with little flowers on it and to top it all off it was his favorite color. You set the mood in the room setting the lights and some soft music. You heard him coming in putting on one of his zip up hoodies on so he couldn’t see at first.

When he walked into the bedroom he smiled letting out a sigh of happiness to be home finally. He kissed you lovingly wrapping his arms around you to hug you tightly. “How’s my beautiful wifie doing today” he said the sweet nickname always making you smile.

“Good, happy to have you home” you said smiling wildly at him. “Come sit” you said leading him to relax on the bed. “I got this for you” you said that wide smile reappearing as you dropped the hoodie to the floor. His mouth dropped staring at you in awe.

“Wow” is all he could get out.

“No touching yeah? Let me take care of you” you said moving your way on the bed. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops ridding him of his pants and boxers. “Can you take your shirt off for me handsome?” You asked.

He nodded quickly taking his shirt off for you. As he did you quickly kissed along his body, kissing over his abdomen and hips. You let smile little nibbles knowing all his sensitive spots. Your hands coming up to slowly stroke his hardening cock. He let out a soft moan gripping the sheets. He wanted to touch you so badly, to run his hands through your hair.

You kissed down his body more kissing his thighs over to the other side before kissing the tip of his cock. His body arched at your touch low whimpers leaving his lips. “Hyune you’ve been doing so well you know that?” You said sweetly looking up at him. “I’m so proud of you”

Before he could respond to your sweet words you slowly took his cock into your mouth. You moved slowly, tongue twirling around his head the whole way down his shaft. Your hands roamed his thighs rubbing them soothingly. His eyes fluttered open and shut, moaning softly as you moved. You moved a bit faster hand coming up to play with his balls massaging them gently.

“Fuck angel- feels s’good” he groaned.

“You deserve it, working so so hard and still making me feel so loved.” You said eyes staring up at him with such love. You moved your body up kissing up his body before softly kissing his lips. Straddling him as you looked down at him with a sweet smile “can I sit here?” You asked.

“Can- fuck yes- can I touch you though?” He asked almost begging.

“Anything for you hyune” you said back.

You moved your hips against him, his cock nestled between your folds as you moved. “Fuck angel- please need you- fuck I need you so badly” he whined hands finally roaming your beautiful body. “You look so pretty, my beautiful wifie.”

You wanted to keep going, teasing him a little more, But you wanted him just as badly. You slowly slipped him into you the lingerie having an opening in the crotch for easy access. Both of you let out loud moans feeling each other so snuggly. His hands flew to your hips holding you there for a second “god- how did I get so lucky- fuck you’re so damn beautiful- so so fucking beautiful” he stammered out.

Your head felt floaty from his compliments and the pleasure. You rocked your hips back and forth before finally moving more. Your hips coming up and down as his cock kissed your cervix with every entry. “Hyune I love you” you spoke breathily.

“Ah- y/n- my- my beautiful angel. I love you. I love you so much. You’re my everything- fuck I couldn’t do this with out you.” He rambled.

His grip on your hips tightened as he matched your pace moving his hips up to meet yours. “Come here, let me kiss those soft lips of yours” he said his voice sounding like honey. You leaned down kissing him passionately. Your legs started to get tired but hyunjin didn’t mind. He took over fucking up into you needly. One of his hands left your hips coming down to play with your clit. He knew all the ways of your body, knowing every little thing that drove you crazy.

His fingers let little circles around your clit as his cock bullied itself against your most sensitive spots. “Angel- I’m close- fuck you drive me so crazy I feel like I’m going insane” he admitted. His words only fueling your desire to please him. Your legs hurt sure but you wanted to drive him over the edge. You quickly moved yourself back before bouncing your hips up and down.

Hyunjin choked on his moans head falling back at the new movements. “Cum for me hyune- please”

“Angel- fuck where?” He asked knowing he was close.

“Inside- cum inside me” you moaned out his fingers still working their magic on your clit.

“Inside? Really? You sure?” He asked.

“Yes- please hyune- I want to- want you to fill me” you babbled out.

His head was spinning at this point. This was the first time you had wanted him to. It drove him over the edge quickly his hand on your hips gripping as he moved his hips up faster. He held you still as he fucked up into you like a mad man. Your words circling his head ‘fill me’ he felt like he was going crazy. “Y/n I love you- my gorgeous angel- I’m- fuck so lucky to have you- I’m- fuck- ah I’m cumming!” He almost screamed out.

His hips snapped up once more before you felt him twitch inside you. The new feeling sending a wave of unfamiliar warmth through your body making you cum hard around his cock. Both of your body’s shook in pleasure you now laying against him. He wrapped his arms around you tightly peppering you with soft kisses.

“You did so well beautiful, thank you for the surprise. I love you so much” he said repeating sweet words as he kissed any inch of your body he could.

“You deserve it hyune. I love you too! So so much” you said looking up at him before kissing him lovingly.

“How about we take a nice warm bath? I’ll light those candles you like and we can just relax?” He offered.

“Sounds perfect”

“Not as perfect as you are Angel” he said smiling brushing some hair from your face.

He lit your favorite candles, running a nice warm bath in the big tub you had. He put some relaxing bath bombs in helping you into the water. He took his place behind you wrapping his arms around you as you both let the warm water sooth your bodies.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83 @delulkpopstan143

[seospicybin]

TASTE.

CHAPTER IV: DECADENT.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen. (21,5k words)

Author's note: Congratulations on surviving the week. Pls enjoy the new chapter and don’t forget to share what you think of it ♡

Decadent /ˈde-kə-dənt/ (adj) characterized by or appealing to self-indulgence.

We've all heard the phrase: "You are what you eat." Have you ever considered, however, that what you eat might also affect how you feel? Certain foods are filled with compounds that have the potential to make you happy, for example, dark chocolate. You always start your mornings with a cup of coffee and you never forget to drop in a chunk of dark chocolate. It’s your little treat to yourself, a tiny boost of serotonin that makes even the busiest mornings a bit sweeter. Today is no exception, but as you finish your coffee in a hurry, there’s a lightness in your chest that has nothing to do with the chocolate.

It’s going to be a good day. You grab your bag and step out of your apartment, locking the door behind you. Just as you turn around, you see Minho stepping out of his apartment. Your heart skips a beat, the sight of him adding another unexplainable surge of serotonin to your morning.

You lift your hand to wave, but before you can, Minho strides toward the elevator, his pace hurried. He reaches it just in time, stopping the doors from closing, and slips inside without even glancing your way. You pout, your hand dropping back to your side. He didn’t see me…

But then, just as the doors are about to close completely, his head pops out. “Why are you just standing there?”

A grin spreads across your face. Without a second thought, you jog to the elevator, slipping inside to stand beside him.

The space is small, quiet, but the silence doesn’t feel awkward. It feels charged, alive with unspoken words and a giddiness you can’t seem to shake. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, your smile returning before you can stop it. The memory of last night rushes back, unbidden but vivid. The warmth of his touch, the sound of his laughter, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

You feel the heat creeping up your neck and quickly look away, trying to steady your thoughts. But when you glance at him again, you notice something—a tiny imperfection in his otherwise perfect look. Without thinking, you reach for him, your fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, straightening it for him.

Minho tilts his head slightly, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “If you keep doing things like this in the kitchen, people are going to figure it out,” he says, his tone teasing.

You blink up at him, feigning innocence. “Figure what out?”

His lips twitch, and he looks away for a moment, as if to keep from laughing. “It’s written all over your face,” he replies, his voice lower, softer.

You shake your head in denial, but the smile pulling at your lips betrays you. Minho’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, and then he smirks. “Stop being so obvious,” he says, his voice playfully scolding.

You lower your head, trying to stifle your laughter. “Yes, Chef,” you reply formally, biting back your grin.

The silence that follows barely lasts a second before you both break into smiles again, the sound of your laughter filling the elevator. Minho lets out a playful groan and gently shoves your shoulder. “I’m serious. Stop.”

You scoot closer to him, your smile turning mischievous. “Make me,” you tease, linking your arm with his.

Minho shakes his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners, reaching to untangle your arm from his. But instead of letting go, he lets his hand slide down to yours, his fingers lacing with yours in an easy, natural motion.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the soft hum of the elevator. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, but you don’t let go. Neither does he. And just like that, the day feels even brighter.

-

Lunch service is in full swing, the kitchen alive with clattering pans, sizzling oils, and the hum of orders being called out. Minho stands at his chef’s table, his eyes sweeping across the room like a hawk, watching every station for mistakes or signs of slacking off. His expression is calm, composed, the perfect picture of control. But no matter how hard he tries, his gaze keeps drifting your way.

It’s distracting, this magnetic pull toward you, as if his eyes are betraying his better judgment. He stiffens when you approach his table, balancing two plates of aglio e olio in your hands. The precision in your movements catches his attention, but it’s your face he’s scanning for remnants of last night—some telltale blush, a lingering glance, anything. But you’re calm. Too calm.

“Chef?” you ask, your voice low enough that only he can hear over the chaos of the kitchen. “Is there a problem?”

Minho blinks, caught off guard. You look at him with innocent eyes, and for a moment, he’s annoyed—not at you, but at himself for expecting something different. You’re good at hiding your feelings, he realizes, far better than he is.

“No,” he mutters, grabbing a cloth and wiping the edge of the plate with unnecessary care. He keeps his eyes on you as you turn and head back to your station, his chest tightening with a strange, inexplicable pull.

Even with the entire kitchen between you, Minho feels drawn to you, like a magnet he can’t resist. He tells himself he’s just observing your cooking—making sure your technique is flawless—but the truth is harder to admit.

Before he knows it, he’s walking toward your station, aiming to stand behind you. But just as he gets close, you step away, heading toward the freezer without sparing him a glance. Minho halts awkwardly mid-step, cursing himself for his obviousness.

Quick to recover, he veers toward Felix, glancing over the risotto Felix is stirring. “Too much thyme,” Minho comments curtly, masking his unease. Felix frowns, his lips twitching as if to argue, but Minho doesn’t give him the chance.

“Yes, Chef,” Felix quickly responds to avoid being scolded.

Returning to his chef’s table, Minho’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, his heart skipping when he sees your name on the screen.

He glances up, and there you are, emerging from the freezer, carrying a container of grated Parmesan. So that’s why you went there, he thinks, a smirk tugging at his lips. He opens the text and reads it quickly: Don’t make it obvious.

Minho scoffs, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Too late, he thinks, though he’d never admit it. You’ve gotten under his skin more than he cares to acknowledge, and it’s showing. It’s time to remind himself—and you—that he’s still in charge.

“You!” he calls out loudly, his voice cutting through the kitchen like a whip. Heads turn as you straighten up at your station. “Table 18 and 21, you take them all. Now. And if you can’t get them out in time, I’ll hang you upside down like a bat.”

You put on a feigned look of horror, widening your eyes and pouting slightly. “Yes, Chef!” you reply, your tone both dutiful and teasing.

Minho’s lips twitch, but he keeps his expression sharp. From the corner of his eye, he sees Felix glaring at him, his brows furrowed in silent question.

“Why is Chef being so harsh with us?” Felix whispers to you when he gets the chance.

You shrug, offering him a coy smile. “I have no idea,” you say lightly, but there’s a glint in your eyes, one that only Minho can decipher.

He watches you with a faint smirk, his irritation dissipating as quickly as it had come. You’re playing your part perfectly, and even though he started this game, he knows you’ll always find a way to win.

-

The idea of meeting Minho outside work feels thrilling, like a secret only the two of you share. You take off your jacket and step out of the restaurant during idle time, excitement bubbling inside you. You shove your hands into your jacket pockets, walking casually down the street, your mind already imagining his expression when you see him.

Out of nowhere, Chris appears beside you, matching your stride. "Where are you off to?" he asks, his tone light but curious.

Startled, you quickly pull yourself together. You hadn’t expected anyone to catch you leaving. Thinking fast, you point down the street and mumble, "Oh, just heading that way. What about you?"

Chris grins, his dimples deepening. "Same direction, actually."

You nod, trying to mask your unease as the two of you continue walking side by side. But as you near the convenience store, your chest tightens. Panic creeps in—how are you going to explain this to Minho?

Slowing your steps, you turn to Chris and say, "You can go ahead. I’ll catch up."

Chris chuckles, bumping your shoulder playfully. "What’s the rush? I like walking with you."

You force a laugh, your nerves showing. "Are you sure you’re not following me?"

He scoffs, amused by your accusation. "Don’t flatter yourself."

You pick up your pace, hoping to lose him, but Chris keeps up effortlessly. To your dismay, he follows you right into the convenience store.

Minho is already there, sitting on a stool and leaning casually against a counter, his sharp gaze softening slightly when he spots you—until he notices Chris trailing behind. His expression shifts to one of barely concealed annoyance.

You shrug sheepishly, pretending to be surprised. "Oh, Chef! What a coincidence," you say, your voice overly cheerful.

Chris walks past you, oblivious to the tension, heading straight for the freezer section. Minho’s glare sharpens, and he jerks his head slightly, gesturing for you to sit on the stool next to him.

As you do, he discreetly slides a chocolate bar under the table. You catch it and quickly tuck it into your jacket pocket, mouthing a grateful "thank you" as a small smile tugs at your lips.

Chris returns, holding three ice creams. He places one in front of each of you before sitting down next to you.

The three of you unwrap your ice creams in silence, the sound of crinkling wrappers the only noise. You take a bite, the cold sweetness melting on your tongue.

After a while, Chris is the first to break the quiet. "It’s payday. Shouldn’t you be treating me to something?"

You chuckle, nodding your head. "Sure, I’ll pay for the ice creams."

Minho slightly swivels his stool and cuts in. "Why should she be the one paying?"

Chris smirks, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Then why don’t you pay for it, Chef?"

Minho sighs, leaning back and gazing out the window. "You are indeed an interesting person," he mutters. "You own a fine dining restaurant but come all the way here for ice cream."

Chris turns to you with his signature dimpled smile and playfully bumps your shoulder. "But it's good, right?"

You nod, grinning. "It’s good."

Minho’s glare swings to you. "Is it good?" he asks, his tone pointed.

You meet his eyes and smile sweetly. "It’s good, Chef."

Minho exhales sharply but doesn’t say more. The three of you finish your ice creams in relative quiet, the tension between Minho and Chris oddly amusing. Despite the unexpected company and how far the situation strayed from your plan, you find yourself enjoying it. Minho’s sharp wit, Chris’s warm charm—they’re such opposites, yet somehow the dynamic works. For now, you savor the moment, the sweetness of the ice cream and the peculiar balance of the company around you.

-

Minho steps into his office, his jaw tightening as he recalls how his intended rendezvous with you had been derailed by Chris’s untimely appearance. The faint annoyance gnaws at him as he tosses his coat over the chair and heads for the small coffee station in the corner of the room.

Making coffee has always had a strange way of soothing him. He finds a rhythm in the grind of the beans, the steady hum of the machine, and the rich aroma filling the space. It’s methodical, like cooking, but without the chaos of the kitchen. Once the cup is brewed, he brings it to his desk, its warmth radiating through the ceramic against his palms.

Settling into his chair, Minho takes a slow sip, savoring the bitterness. The smell alone brings him comfort, but today, it also stirs memories of the previous night. Just you and him. No distractions. No interruptions. He closes his eyes briefly, replaying the way your laugh had sounded, how you’d looked at him with that softness in your eyes that made his chest tighten.

Minho leans back, letting the moment linger longer than he should. He knows better than to dwell, yet the thought of being alone with you again is too tempting to ignore. He’s drawn out of his reverie when Taesoo enters the office and strikes him like a lightning in the middle of the day.

“I saw you kiss her in the kitchen last night.”

He stares at Taesoo, who stands before him looking like he regrets every word he’s just spoken. But there is no taking it back. The damage is done.

Minho straightens, his voice low and controlled. “Does anyone else know?”

Taesoo shakes his head quickly, his hands rising in defense. “No, no one. I swear.”

Minho’s jaw tightens as he steps closer, his shadow falling over Taesoo. “Then make sure it stays that way.”

The younger one nods, his face pale. “I didn’t mean—”

“Go back to the kitchen,” Minho interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Taesoo hesitates for only a moment before bowing and hurrying out of the office, leaving Minho alone once again with his thoughts that swirling in his head like a raging storm.

By the time dinner service begins, the weight of Taesoo’s insinuation hangs heavy on Minho’s mind. He works with precision, shouting orders and keeping a close eye on the line, determined not to let it show.

Amid the controlled chaos, a service staff approaches, momentarily breaking his focus. “Chef, a customer wants to personally thank the chef for the meal.”

Minho adjusts his apron, preparing to meet the guest, but the staff quickly adds, “Actually, they asked to see Sous Chef Seojun. He made the dish.”

Minho nods curtly, signaling for Seojun to handle it. He watches as the sous chef heads to the front, a mix of pride and frustration swirling within him. Normally, he’d take satisfaction in seeing his team praised, but tonight, his thoughts are elsewhere.

Just as Minho turns back to the station, Sara appears beside him, her voice low but firm. “We need to talk later,” she says, her tone serious.

Minho glances at her, his brow furrowing. She doesn’t elaborate, simply giving him a meaningful look before stepping away.

His grip on the edge of the counter tightens as the night presses on, the burden of unspoken words, secrets, and mounting suspicion weighing heavily on him. Minho pushes through service, but the once-controlled rhythm of his work feels off-kilter, his mind plagued by everything he’s trying to keep hidden.

-

Minho finishes changing into his casual clothes, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt when a knock echoes on his office door. Without needing to ask, he knows who it is. "Come in," he calls out, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.

The door opens, and Sara steps in, her usual composed demeanor intact as she casually takes a seat on the single sofa in his office. Minho raises an eyebrow at her boldness, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. "You look a little too comfortable in my office," he remarks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Sara doesn’t flinch. Instead, she smirks, tilting her head. "You should get used to it."

Minho narrows his eyes but gestures for her to get to the point. "So, what is it you want to talk to me about?"

She reclines slightly, crossing her legs as she starts. "It’s about Sous Chef Seojun."

Minho’s brows furrow. "What about him?"

Sara doesn’t miss a beat. "He might be leaving the kitchen soon."

Minho's eyebrow raised at that and he straightens as the weight of her words settling in.

"The customer who asked for him earlier—he’s opening a new Italian restaurant. I’m willing to bet Seojun’s been offered the head chef position," she explains, her tone calm but with a hint of gravity. "And if that happens, he’ll probably take his people with him."

Minho takes in her words, the implications running through his mind. He knows Sara’s right; it’s not just a possibility—it’s a likelihood. The thought of losing key members of his team, of having to rebuild the kitchen dynamics, gnaws at him.

Minho steps out of the back entrance into the cool night air, his eyes scanning the parking lot. Seojun’s car is still in its spot and he sees Seojun sitting inside with Seungwan and Hyunwoo. The three of them are animated, their laughter spilling into the quiet night. Minho doesn’t need to hear the conversation to guess what it’s about—they’re probably already dreaming of leaving his kitchen behind.

Minho’s mood sours further as he heads home. By the time he steps into his apartment, the weight of everything—Taesoo’s suspicions, Sara’s warning, Seojun’s likely departure—feels unbearable. The suffocating stillness of his apartment does nothing to help. On a whim, he grabs his phone and sends you a text, telling you to come out.

A moment later, your apartment door creaks open, and there you are, smiling the moment you see him. That smile—it’s enough to ease the tension in his chest, even if only slightly.

"Were you sleeping?" Minho asks, his voice softer than usual.

You shake your head. "No, not yet. Why?"

He hesitates, the temptation to spill everything clawing at him. He wants to tell you about Taesoo, about Seojun, about how everything seems to be crumbling around him. But he stops himself. That’s not why he’s here.

Instead, he smirks, his tone shifting to something lighter. "Have you eaten the chocolate I gave you?"

You giggle, shaking your head again. "Not yet."

Minho stares at you, feigning disbelief. "Why not?"

You grin, teasing him. "Because it’s from you. I don’t want to eat it."

Minho hisses through his teeth, pretending to be annoyed. "Eat it," he orders, though there’s no real bite in his tone.

You respond with a playful, formal tone, "Yes, Chef."

Minho steps closer, leaning in until his lips are near your ear. His voice drops to a whisper. "And don’t share it with anyone else."

Your cheeks flush as you nod, a smile tugging at your lips. Before pulling back, Minho brushes his lips against your cheek, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

"Go back inside and sleep," he murmurs.

You look up at him, your smile warm and soft. "Goodnight, Chef."

Minho watches as you retreat into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you. He turns and walks back to his own apartment, the warmth of your smile and the memory of your laughter lingering in his chest, making the weight of the night just a little easier to bear.

-

The locker room is quiet when you enter, the faint scent of metal and detergent lingering in the air. You open your locker, placing your things inside methodically, your mind half on the day ahead and half on the memory of Minho at your door last night. His touch, his words, the subtle vulnerability in his eyes—it all lingers, warm and heavy in your chest. But you can’t also deny that you noticed something in his eyes, something troubling that he refused to share with you.

The sound of footsteps echoes in the room, pulling you from your thoughts. Voices follow, familiar and distinct. Seungwan and Hyunwoo, you realize, accompanied by Sous Chef Seojun. They always arrive together, carpooling to work.

Your locker is on the opposite side of the room, and they won't know you're there unless you make a noise, their conversation carries clearly in the space.

"Did you guys get your resumes ready?" Seojun’s voice cuts through.

"Yeah, I emailed mine last night," Seungwan replies, his tone light with excitement.

"Same," Hyunwoo adds, chuckling. "I can’t wait to work in a real kitchen, where we can actually create something."

Seojun hums approvingly. "Good. The owner’s expecting them today. This is going to be big for us."

You pause, your heart sinking. Their words start piecing together a puzzle you hadn’t even realized existed. Something that bothers Minho’s mind—this must be it. His team is planning to leave him.

Minho may act like it doesn't bother him but you can see it, especially during the lunch service. The kitchen is at its usual chaos, orders are flooding in and the rhythm is relentless. Sara’s triple-flavored pasta is still the crowd favorite and the demand is testing her limits.

Next to you, Sara wipes her brow, exhaling sharply. "This is insane," she mutters, glancing at you as you plate the last vongole for your station.

"Is that your last one?" she asks, her voice tinged with urgency.

"Yes, Chef," you reply, your tone calm and steady as always.

"Can you take three of my orders?" she asks, her gaze sharp but pleading.

You nod, placing the vongole on Minho’s chef table before moving to Sara’s station. She’s already started another order, her hands working swiftly as she talks you through the steps. You follow her lead, watching every motion, memorizing each detail.

When the first dish is ready, you bring it to her for approval. Sara takes a bite, her expression thoughtful as she chews. Then, a smile breaks across her face.

"The dough, the sauce, temperature and tenderness... it's all good," she says, nodding in approval.

Relief washes over you, and you smile back. "Thank you, Chef."

Sara laughs, a rare lightness in her tone. "I better watch my back. You’re going to catch up to me soon."

You laugh softly, returning your focus to the task at hand. The kitchen fades around you as you concentrate on perfecting the dish, tuning out the chaos that swirls like a storm. It isn’t until Minho slams his hands on his chef’s table and his voice booms across the room that you snap out of your focus.

"Sous Chef!" he barks, his tone sharp enough to cut through the noise. "How could you spaced out in the middle of cooking! Can't you hear your meat crying out to you? Can't you tell what to do from the color and the smell? You should know by now."

You glance over, catching sight of the sous chef scrambling to salvage the charred meat with his thong.

"And you! What good is this meat if you treat it like third class meat?" Minho continues, turning to Hyunwoo. "Top grade meat does not need anything but salt to melt in your mouth. It does not need any chef to cook it well."

Minho taps Hyunwoo’s pan with a wooden spatula as his voice raises louder as he continues talking. "A true chef is the one who can make low class meat taste like the top grade. But even with a top grade meat, I don't know what you've been thinking but you've made the meat go tough. You are ruining the food!"

He turns at Seungwan next as he prepares a salad on his plate. Minho grabs his container of cilantro, showing him how they're wilting against the temperature in the kitchen.

"Didn’t I tell you to give them some water and cover them with a wet cloth. I told you so many times but you just wouldn't listen to me."

Seeing the defiance in them seem to only anger Minho, he inhales air but it doesn’t help him anymore. "Do you think at a restaurant where there is a luxurious dining hall, and a grand kitchen would make you a top chef? Is that it, huh?"

Minho’s fury is palpable, his frustration spilling over. The entrée line is a mess, their movements sluggish and half-hearted. It’s clear their minds are elsewhere—already dreaming of the new kitchen Seojun promised them.

"GET YOUR BRAINS BACK TO YOUR HEADS!"

The tension in the kitchen mounts, heavy and suffocating. You steal a glance at Minho, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing as he tries to regain control. Despite everything, he doesn’t falter. He keeps shouting orders, his voice commanding as he refuses to let the kitchen crumble under his watch.

But you can see the strain in him, the weight of it all bearing down on his shoulders. And it makes your chest ache, knowing just how much he’s carrying.

-

The kitchen is eerily quiet after the lunch service ends, the usual clatter of pans and voices replaced by the hum of the exhaust fans. One by one, the cooks file out, muttering farewells or simply disappearing without a word. All except Seojun.

Minho stays rooted at his chef table, arms crossed, his sharp gaze trained on the sous chef still standing at his station. Seojun doesn’t move, his posture stiff, as though he’s bracing himself.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. The silence hangs heavy, charged with unspoken words and simmering tension. Their eyes lock, an unyielding standoff.

Finally, Seojun breaks the silence. "You said first class chef can make the third class food to top class," he begins, his voice low but steady, "According to your theory, if you're a top class chef, shouldn't you also be able to make us into first class chef as well?"

Minho tilts his head slightly, his expression calm but sharp as a blade. "Are you saying it’s my fault that you’re third-class chefs?"

Seojun’s jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffening. "So, is it because we are third class cooks that you don't want to cook with us?"

Minho lets out a soft exhale, leaning slightly against the table. His voice is measured, deliberate. "You think I’m just sitting here, doing nothing? You’re like third-rate meat, full of fat and sinews. It needs to be pounded, poked, and tenderized to become top-grade. If you resent being called third-class, then try harder. Endure the process. If I slap your left cheek, offer me the other so that you can learn. This is how I cook in my kitchen."

Seojun clenches his fists, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth. "You think that’s all it takes?" he says, his voice rising. "You think burning us down and grinding us up will make us better?"

Without breaking eye contact, Seojun grabs a nearby bottle of wine, yanking it open. He strides to the grill, tipping the bottle and splashing a stream of wine onto the hot surface. Flames roar to life, licking the air in a brilliant burst of heat and light.

Seojun turns back to Minho, the fire reflecting in his eyes. "No matter how good the meat is, it’ll burn if you keep cooking it on high heat," he says, his tone biting.

The flames die down, leaving only the faint scent of charred wine in the air. Seojun sets the bottle down with a sharp thud. "Stop setting everything on fire," he says, his voice quieter now but no less forceful.

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Minho standing alone in the silence.

Minho remains still, his expression unreadable as he watches Seojun’s retreating back. Resistance isn’t new to him—cooks have come and gone, each one thinking they could challenge him, break him. But there’s something about Seojun’s words that lingers, digging beneath the surface like an itch he can’t scratch.

-

The day at the restaurant is long and grueling, but it ends like it always does—everyone pulling through to close out another service. Minho is heading back to the kitchen when he spots Seojun walking toward him from the opposite direction.

Their eyes lock, the unspoken tension between them thick in the air. Minho knows he can’t leave it as it is—not with the quiet defiance in Seojun’s gaze. He stops him by standing in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest, his stance commanding.

Seojun halts, his posture stiffening slightly.

"I’m not good at beating around the bush, so I’ll just say it," Minho begins, his tone blunt. "If you want to leave this kitchen, then leave after I fire you. Or leave after you beat me."

He steps closer, leaning in until there’s barely any space between them. His eyes narrow, his voice lowering to a near-growl. "Leave after you surpass me. Got it?"

The air between them is heavy with challenge, neither of them moving, neither willing to back down. Finally, Minho straightens, his expression unreadable, and strides past Seojun without another word.

When Minho enters the kitchen, he isn’t surprised to find you there. You’re bent over the counter, carefully squeezing the filling onto flat sheets of pasta dough, your movements deliberate and precise.

He leans against his chef table, watching you in silence. There’s something calming about the way you work, even in the quiet hum of the now-empty kitchen.

After a moment, he approaches, stopping just close enough for you to notice. "Are you busy?" he asks, his voice casual.

Without looking up, you nod. "Yes. Chef Sara asked me to make 100 ravioli tonight."

Minho hums in response, staying where he is and watching as you cut the dough into perfect circles. But he isn’t one to let things go easily. He straightens and moves closer again, his voice soft but teasing. "Come play with me."

You glance at him briefly before turning back to your task. "Can you see I’m busy?" you reply evenly.

Minho tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Come, play with me. You can work later."

You shake your head, your tone light but firm. "I can’t. You’re too scary."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You don’t look scared of me," he counters smoothly.

"I have to finish these ravioli first," you remind him, keeping your focus on your work.

Minho nods slowly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "You’re right—you have to do it to learn. But you also have to learn with me."

Before you can argue, he grabs your bag and jacket from the chef table, holding them out to you. "Let’s go," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You open your mouth to protest, but Minho is already heading for the door, your bag slung over his shoulder. With no other choice, you sigh and follow him, your heart racing as you step out of the restaurant together.

-

The silence in the elevator is broken only by the soft hum of its movement. You trail slightly behind Minho, who stands calm and unreadable, his finger having pressed the button for the 14th floor. You glance at him, curiosity getting the better of you, and playfully nudge his side with your elbow.

“If you told me you were taking me on a date, I’d have come without a second thought,” you whisper with a grin.

Minho turns his sharp gaze to you, narrowing his eyes. “It’s not a date,” he states firmly. “I told you I want you to learn something tonight.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatically pouting. Minho doesn’t spare you another glance, stepping out as the elevator doors slide open.

He leads you to a restaurant on the hotel balcony, the cool night air mingling with the soft glow of city lights. Despite the late hour, the kitchen is still open. The waiter, seemingly assuming you’re a couple, seats you at a table with the best view.

Minho orders right away, his confidence making it clear he’s familiar with the menu. When the server brings over a tray of bread, you light up, hunger gnawing at your stomach since you haven’t eaten anything all day.

But just as you’re about to grab a piece, Minho’s voice cuts through your excitement. “Don’t eat the bread,” he warns.

You freeze, confused. “Why not? I’m starving.”

He crosses his arms, his tone firm. “You’ll ruin your appetite. You’ll fill up on bread and won’t appreciate the main dishes. Unless it’s to soak up the leftover sauce, don’t touch it.”

Reluctantly, you sigh and set the bread back down, earning a brief approving nod from him.

Moments later, the server returns with your first course—a shrimp and avocado salad. You and Minho share the plate, each picking up your forks. Minho takes one bite before setting his fork down, his expression immediately souring.

“How does it taste to you?” he asks, his tone sharp.

You hesitate before answering honestly, “It’s not that bad.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “Not that bad? The shrimp is overcooked—it’s a pink sponge that smells like shrimp. If you cooked like this in my kitchen, I’d make sure you grew horns on your head, like a shrimp.”

You sigh again, reluctantly putting your fork down as Minho insists you stop eating.

Soon, the main course arrives: crab meat ravioli in a tomato basil sauce. You’re thrilled, digging in right away, but before you can enjoy your first bite, Minho stops you.

“Hold it,” he commands, gesturing with his knife toward the ravioli on your plate. One has burst open in the back, spilling its filling.

“What’s the purpose of making ravioli?” he asks rhetorically. “To keep the filling intact. This ravioli has lost its purpose in life.”

You roll your eyes, setting your utensils down again. “Why didn’t you just ask them to recook it then?” you challenge.

Minho scoffs. “That’s the last thing I want to hear as a chef, and I won’t say it to another chef.”

“Then just eat it,” you reply, exasperated.

“I don’t want to,” he retorts stubbornly.

You groan, leaning back in your seat. Minho continues to mutter, lamenting the quality of the dish and feeling pity for the customers paying for this food.

“I should call the chef out and shove this plate down his throat,” he mutters darkly.

Shaking your head, you sigh. “You know, I’m just grateful anytime someone else cooks for me. I hate having to cook for myself at home.”

Minho leans forward, fixing you with an intense stare. “Are you saying that if you lived with someone, you wouldn’t cook for them? That you’d let your partner starve in the morning or fall asleep without making dinner?”

You smirk, propping your chin on your hand. “My partner can cook for me.”

Minho scoffs, smirking back. “What man in his right mind would cook for a partner who’s a chef?”

You flash him a sly smile. “Then I’ll just marry a chef.”

Minho gasps dramatically, his disbelief exaggerated but amused. He leans back in his chair, his eyes studying you with a mix of delight and curiosity.

Suddenly, he shouts for a server nearby, clearly intending to complain about the food. You sink lower into your chair, already feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Minho's complaints echo in your mind as you sit stiffly in the car beside him. The memory of him criticizing the food so openly to the server makes your cheeks burn. You glance out the window, trying to shake off the embarrassment, but it lingers.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you turn to him. “Why did you do that?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended.

Minho keeps his eyes on the road, his expression unbothered. “Because if I didn’t, it’s like telling those chefs to never improve. To just stay stuck in the same place their entire lives.”

You sigh, glaring at him, though he doesn’t look your way. He still seems to feel it, though, because he spares you a quick glance.

“What now?” he asks, clearly exasperated.

“I’m hungry!” you whine, your tone full of complaint.

“Then why didn’t you eat earlier?”

That does it. You snap, your voice rising. “Because you told me not to!”

Minho pauses, processing your words before letting out a long breath. “Fine,” he mutters, turning the car sharply.

Before you know it, you’re at his place. Minho ushers you inside, moving straight to the kitchen.

-

As Minho places the plate of grilled cheese in front of you, the aroma hits you like a warm embrace: toasted bread, melted cheese, and a hint of nuttiness. Your mouth waters at the sight, and your stomach growls in anticipation. One bite and you know—it’s not just a grilled cheese. It’s a masterpiece.

Minutes later, you set the empty plate down on the coffee table, leaning back with a contented sigh. Then reality hits, and you groan. “Ugh, I still have to finish the ravioli tomorrow morning.”

Minho, lounging beside you, raises an eyebrow. “So?”

You turn to him, giving him your best pleading look. “Help me with it?”

His response is instant and firm. “No.”

You pout, but he doesn’t budge. “Why would I waste my energy making ravioli for Sara?” he adds, sounding almost offended.

Your shoulders slump in disappointment. “Mean,” you mutter under your breath.

Minho leans back further, running a hand through his hair as he lets out a low sigh. “And why should I waste my energy on people who want to leave me anyway?”

The words hang in the air, and your ears perk up. Something in his tone—calm but heavy—gives you pause. It hits you then: he indeed knows about Souschef Seojun.

You turn to him sharply. “So, you knew about it?”

His gaze shifts to yours, and his eyes are piercing. “And you didn't tell me about it.”

You hesitate, feeling cornered. “I like Souschef,” you admit. “I want to keep working with him, but… I also think he should take this opportunity for himself.”

Minho clicks his tongue, his expression darkening. “You’re a professional two-timer,” he says with a scoff.

The jab stings, but before you can respond, he stares at the ceiling, his voice quieter now. “It’s the hardest thing... moving up to chef from sous chef. Most don’t make it.”

You study his face, the frustration he tries so hard to mask. He’s bothered, even though he won’t outright say it. The fact that Minho thinks about it means he actually cares more than he let on.

A question forms in your head and in a softer tone, you dare yourself to ask but keeping your tone soft, “Why do you push away the people who like you and push even harder the ones who don’t? Who’s going to stay by your side if you keep doing that?”

Minho turns his head, his eyes locking with yours. A smirk tugs at his lips as he answers, “I have you.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, your heart skipping a beat. Without thinking, you slip your arm around his, holding it close to your chest.

“That’s true,” you whisper, smiling softly. “I’ll always stick by your side.”

Deep down, you hope he believes you and that it's not some words you said to please him. You hope he knows you’ll stay by his side, no matter what.

-

The next day, Minho strides purposefully through the restaurant, his mind already racing with the tasks of the day. His feet carry him toward Chris's office, but he pauses as he notices Seojun approaching from the opposite hallway.

Their eyes meet, and they exchange a brief, puzzled look. Neither says a word, but the shared confusion is clear: why are they both heading to the same place?

When they reach the door, Seojun glances at Minho and knocks. Chris’s voice calls out, “Come in,” and they step inside together.

Chris is seated at his desk, scribbling his signature onto a stack of papers. He doesn’t look up immediately, merely gestures for them to sit. Minho and Seojun take the seats across from each other, the silence stretching as they wait for Chris to finish.

Finally, Chris sets his pen down and moves to the small sofa in the corner of the office, gesturing for them to stay where they are. He leans forward, hands clasped, his face serious but unreadable.

“A customer has requested the restaurant’s service after business hours,” Chris begins, his tone measured. “They want to hold an event at midnight tonight.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, glancing at Seojun, who looks just as perplexed. “What could they possibly want to eat at midnight?” Minho asks, skepticism laced in his voice.

Seojun leans forward slightly, echoing Minho’s confusion. “Did the customer ask for me specifically?”

Chris nods, addressing both of their concerns. “I don’t know why the event is at midnight, but yes, they specifically asked for you, Souschef.”

Seojun’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Minho narrows his eyes, trying to piece together the puzzle.

Chris continues, “I need both of you to oversee this request. You’ll also need to pick an assistant to help you with the prep and execution.”

Minho leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. He studies Chris’s expression, searching for clues, but his boss remains as inscrutable as ever.

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the request sinking in. Midnight. A private event. A specific request for Seojun.

As they stand to leave, Minho’s thoughts churn. What kind of event requires such secrecy and precision at this hour? And why does it feel like tonight is going to change everything?

-

When Minho tells you to stay after dinner service tonight, you don’t expect to find yourself assisting in what feels like a culinary duel. He and Seojun go head-to-head, cooking the same dish—grilled lobster bisque—for a special customer order. As you move between them, handing over ingredients, wiping surfaces, and following their instructions, you can’t help but notice how starkly different their approaches are.

Minho works with practiced precision, each movement calculated and efficient, while Seojun experiments, adjusting on the fly. At one point, Minho catches your eye and smirks, his expression practically saying, This is child’s play for me. You bite back an eye roll, handing him a cloth to wipe the edge of his plate.

When they finish plating, Minho and Seojun each carry their dishes to the dining hall. You trail behind, quietly observing as they serve the customer. The man sits alone at the large table, his demeanor calm but unreadable. As Minho and Seojun approach, you catch the brief flicker of surprise on Seojun’s face. It’s then you realize—this must be the man trying to recruit him for the new restaurant.

The customer greets them with a polite smile and sets a napkin on his lap. Before he can say anything, Minho asks the question lingering in everyone’s mind. “Why did you order the same dish this late at night?”

The customer smiles dismissively. “Shouldn’t that remain the concern of the guest?”

Minho keeps his face neutral, though you can sense his annoyance bubbling beneath the surface.

The customer tastes Minho’s dish first, nodding slightly but offering no comment. He then moves on to Seojun’s, taking a single bite before pausing. “Why didn’t you use higher-quality extra virgin olive oil? Was it the cost?”

Seojun hesitates, clearly caught off guard. He stammers out a response, but Minho cuts in smoothly. “It’s not about the cost. Extra virgin olive oil burns too quickly on the grill. It’s a matter of technique, not expense.”

The customer arches a brow. “But I still prefer the expensive oil.”

You see the muscle in Minho’s jaw twitch, though his smile remains intact.

The customer takes another bite, then comments on the sauce. “The flavor is quite good. Did you use the lobster shell?”

You blink, recalling the cooking process. Seojun didn’t use lobster shells. Without thinking, you blurt out, “It’s shrimp, not lobster.”

The room goes silent. Your stomach sinks as you realize you’ve spoken out of turn. Quickly, you lower your gaze and stammer an apology.

The customer turns to Seojun. “Why would you use shrimp shells when lobster shells were available?”

Before Seojun can respond, Minho steps in again. “It’s not about cost-cutting. Shrimp shells retain a better flavor profile than lobster shells.”

The customer dips his fork into the sauce and frowns. “The sauce... It’s too salty.”

Seojun forces a sheepish smile. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Minho, clearly at the end of his patience, interjects, “The sauce is meant to be eaten with the lobster and salad. It’s balanced when combined.”

The customer raises an eyebrow. “Should I?”

Minho’s smile strains further. “Yes, you should.”

As soon as he excuses himself to leave, Minho storms off, heading for the stairs. You scramble to catch up, struggling to match his furious pace. He reaches the top of the steps, then stops abruptly, spinning around to march back down. You quickly dart in front of him, blocking his path.

“That pompous idiot!” he hisses, his voice rising. “Acting like he knows everything when he knows nothing!”

“Chef,” you whisper urgently, glancing nervously toward the dining hall. “He’ll hear you!”

“I don’t care if he hears me!” Minho snaps, his voice growing louder.

Panicking, you grab his arm, pulling him back. “You can’t go back down there!”

His eyes blaze as he glares at you, his chest heaving with frustration. “That kind of person is the one I hate the most!”

You tighten your grip on his arm and press your forehead against his shoulder, desperate to calm him down. “Chef, please. Just let it go.”

He lets out a harsh sigh, running a hand through his hair. After a tense pause, he finally turns and continues climbing the stairs, muttering under his breath. You follow closely, silently praying he doesn’t change his mind and storm back down.

In the car ride home, Minho grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. His jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he navigates through the dimly lit streets. His anger still simmers, radiating off him in waves.

“Shake it off already,” you say gently, hoping to lighten the mood.

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh but doesn’t glance at you. “I’m going to be even harsher on them from now on so they won't leave,” he declares firmly.

“Why are you so sure they won’t just leave?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Minho finally responds, his tone steady but loaded with conviction. “Chefs need to know how to negotiate with the owners. Our souschef might look tough, but he’s a softie inside. He doesn’t have the backbone to stand firm. If he stays obedient, he’s going to get eaten alive by someone like that.”

He pauses, his grip tightening slightly. “Owners always push the blame back onto the chef. Even if you follow their orders to the letter, they won’t take care of you when things fall apart. That guy tonight—requesting some bizarre, last-minute order at midnight? He’s exactly that type. It’s not about the food with him; it’s about control.”

Minho’s voice lowers, but the intensity remains. “The real power struggle in a restaurant should be with the customer’s taste buds—not with the owner of the restaurant. Do you get it?”

You sit quietly, absorbing his words. Tonight suddenly makes so much more sense. This wasn’t just about the grilled lobster bisque; it was a test. The customer wanted to see what kind of chefs Minho and Seojun are. While Minho stood firm in his principles, Seojun seemed eager to comply without pushing back.

For a moment, you admire him in silence, impressed by his confidence and determination. But as the awe settles in, you can’t resist teasing him. “Still, I have to say… I like our owner’s taste.”

Minho’s head snaps toward you, his brows furrowing. “What?” he shrieks.

“I like Chris,” you say, a sly grin spreading across your face. “The more I see him managing the restaurant, the more I like him. He’s great.”

Minho slows the car as the light ahead turns red. He turns to you, his expression unreadable. “Come closer,” he says softly, his tone suddenly sweet.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just come closer,” he coaxes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

With a small, mischievous smirk of your own, you lean in, wondering what he’s up to. The second you’re close enough, he flicks your forehead with his finger—hard.

“Ow!” you yelp, jerking back as you cradle your forehead. “What was that for?”

Minho’s expression is deadpan, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Shut your mouth,” he says bluntly, then shifts his focus back to the road as the light turns green.

You rub your forehead, pouting as you whine, “That hurts, chef.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward, betraying the faintest of smirks.

-

The kitchen hums with the usual midday chaos, everyone focused on getting the last few lunch orders out. Pans sizzle, knives clatter against cutting boards, and the air is thick with the aroma of sauces and seared meats. You keep your head down at your station, working quickly to finish plating.

A service staff member steps in, calling out, “A customer wants to see the sous chef.”

Minho doesn’t even lift his head. He knows exactly who it is. His sharp gaze cuts across the kitchen, landing on Seojun, who hesitates for a moment. They share a silent exchange, and Minho gives a small, almost dismissive nod, granting permission.

From your station, you notice Seungwan and Hyunwoo exchanging a look, their smiles widening with excitement. They’re already celebrating in their heads, assuming Seojun is about to confirm their move to the new kitchen.

After service slows, you and Felix retreat to the locker room, escaping the heat and noise of the kitchen. You sit together on the small sofa—Felix lost in a game on his phone, headphones in, while you scroll through your own phone.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you start researching the new Italian restaurant that Seojun has been eyeing. It doesn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place—the owner of this restaurant also owns the hotel restaurant Minho took you to the other night. Everything suddenly makes sense.

You don’t say anything, though. The room starts filling with people—familiar voices drifting in as Seungwan and Hyunwoo enter, their excitement still palpable.

“They probably have state-of-the-art equipment,” Hyunwoo says, his tone brimming with enthusiasm.

“And a bigger kitchen,” Seungwan adds, practically glowing at the thought.

Taesoo chimes in, skeptical. “Are you two really thinking about leaving this kitchen?”

Felix finally glances up from his game, pulling out one earbud. “What are they talking about?” he whispers.

You hurriedly cover Felix’s mouth with your hand to stop him from talking. “Shh...”

The door opens again, and Seojun walks in. Seungwan and Hyunwoo practically pounce on him, bombarding him with questions about their supposed future kitchen.

Seojun clears his throat, his expression a mix of discomfort and apology. “The owner said... I’m not ready to be a head chef yet.”

The air shifts as Seungwan and Hyunwoo’s excitement fizzles into confusion.

“What?!” Seungwan blurts out. “Why would you make us think this was happening if it’s not?”

Hyunwoo crosses his arms, frowning. “Yeah, what was the point of all this?”

Seojun’s shoulders slump slightly, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, looking genuinely guilty. “I really thought it was going to happen. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”

You watch the scene unfold in silence, piecing everything together. Minho was right. Seojun may act tough, but inside, he’s soft and earnest—a far cry from the steely ambition that fuels most chefs. And yet, it’s that softness, that genuineness, that sets him apart.

-

Minho leans back against his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, enjoying the rare moment of peace in his office. The faint hum of the kitchen filters through the closed door, but it’s a comforting background noise, a reminder of the controlled chaos he thrives in.

The knock on his door pulls him out of his thoughts. He isn’t expecting anyone, but he calls out, “Come in,” assuming it’s Felix, likely here to pester him with some nonsensical question or pointless chatter.

But when the door opens, it’s not who he expected—it’s Seojun.

Minho straightens slightly, surprised. Seojun steps inside, his hands clasped in front of him, his demeanor uncharacteristically hesitant. Minho studies him for a moment, noting the look in his eyes, the way he’s clearly turning something over in his head.

“What is it?” Minho asks, setting his coffee down on the desk. “Just say whatever’s on your mind.”

Seojun offers a soft smile before speaking. “Chef, what gave you the biggest push to become a head chef?”

Ah. So that’s where this is going. Minho smirks, recognizing the underlying intention. Seojun isn’t asking out of idle curiosity—he’s looking for direction, for some kind of encouragement.

Minho crosses his arms, his smirk deepening. “I had a nasty chef when I was a sous chef. Absolute piece of work. Thought he knew everything, never let anyone else have an opinion.”

Seojun looks at him with interest, clearly not expecting such a blunt answer.

“I endured it all,” Minho continues, his voice calm but firm, “because I wanted to be better than him. To prove to myself—and to him—that I could do it my way and do it better.”

He glances at Seojun, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

Seojun smiles sheepishly, shaking his head just enough to be noticed. “I should get back to work,” he says, his tone polite and respectful, but there’s a quiet determination in it.

Minho watches him leave, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t need Seojun to say it outright���it’s clear he’s decided to stay. Minho knew Seojun wasn’t the type to jump ship easily.

As the door closes, Minho leans back against his desk again, his smirk softening into something almost thoughtful. If Seojun is going to stay, Minho will make sure he gets that push he’s looking for, whether he knows it or not.

But now, with the matter of the cooks settled, Minho’s thoughts shift to something else, something that’s been nagging at him. It’s time to deal with another issue that’s been bothering him—and this one isn’t work-related.

-

Minho strides confidently ahead, carrying a couple of bags over his shoulder while leaving you with the bulk of the load. The stairs creak under your feet as you haul the bags of food he made you carry, your arms aching with the weight.

"Where are we going?" you finally ask, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel. It’s late, the air is cold, and you’re in a neighborhood you don’t recognize.

Minho glances over his shoulder, his face annoyingly nonchalant. "Just keep going," he says dismissively.

That’s it. You stop abruptly, dropping the bags onto the steps with a huff. "I’m tired," you whine, crossing your arms over your chest. "I’m not moving until you tell me where we’re going."

Minho sighs audibly and turns back, walking down a couple of steps to stand in front of you. "We’re taking care of someone," he says cryptically, his tone flat and unreadable.

Your eyes widen in horror, your mind immediately jumping to the worst conclusions. With Minho, it’s impossible to tell when he’s joking or being serious. "Taking care of someone?" you repeat, your voice an octave higher.

Minho doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at you with an expression that’s halfway between amused and deadpan. Then, out of nowhere, he says, "Taesoo knows."

You blink at him, utterly confused. "Knows what?"

"About us," Minho replies, his voice low but calm. "About the kiss. In the kitchen."

Your stomach drops. You feel faint all of a sudden, your knees wobbling under you. "Why didn’t you tell me earlier?" you ask, your voice trembling as your panic rises.

Minho tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharp as he studies your reaction. "Are you scared?" he asks simply.

You nod meekly, unable to form words as your fear takes over. "What should we do? We got caught too fast..."

Minho smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Don’t be scared," he says, stepping closer. "If the other cooks find out, we’ll just leave the earth together. But first—"

"First?" you echo nervously.

"We’ll sew Taesoo’s lips shut so he can’t tell anyone," Minho says matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most logical solution. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "You can be the thread, and I’ll be the needle. Together, we’ll make sure he stays quiet."

You stare at him, unsure if you should laugh, cry, or run for your life. His words do nothing to ease your anxiety, and the amused look on his face only makes you more uneasy.

"Chef…" you start hesitantly, but the words die in your throat.

He steps back, his smirk widening as he gestures for you to pick up the bags. "Come on," he says, as if he didn’t just suggest something completely unhinged. "We’re almost there."

Still uneasy, you grab the bags reluctantly, your mind racing with questions. Whatever Minho has planned, you’re not sure you’re ready for it.

-

The rooftop feels colder than you anticipated, the crisp night air wrapping around you like a thin sheet of frost. The lights in Taesoo’s apartment are out, and after knocking on the door a few times to no response, you and Minho are left to wait. You sit together on a weathered wooden bench outside, the city sprawling below you. The view is breathtaking, the glow of city lights mimicking the stars above, both twinkling in their own rhythm.

You scoot closer to Minho, partly for warmth, partly because the moment feels intimate in a way you can't quite put into words. Your shoulder brushes against his, and the contact grounds you. The silence stretches on, comfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. You decide to break it.

“Chef,” you start softly, your breath forming faint clouds in the cold air. “Working in your kitchen, I’m more afraid of disappointing you as a cook than anyone finding out about… us.”

Minho’s gaze shifts to you, his sharp eyes softening slightly in the dim light. Encouraged, you continue, “I can take the scoldings, the whispering, all of it. But I don’t want to lean on you when I’m not good enough. I don’t want to be the weak link in your kitchen.”

You look down at your hands, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you’ve made yourself. But then you glance up at him and press on. “I like you and I want to lean on you, but I also want to stand on my own. It’s just… so hard to stand on my own sometimes.”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that infuriating, teasing way of his. “If it’s that hard, should we just give up?”

You know he’s joking, but you still pout at his words. “We haven’t even done anything yet!” you protest.

Minho raises an eyebrow, amused. “What haven’t we done?”

Instead of answering, you throw the question back at him. “What have we done?”

He clicks his tongue, leaning back against the bench. “What is it you want to do, then?”

“Everything,” you reply without hesitation.

“Everything, huh?” he repeats, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you. “You sure about that?”

“Everything,” you confirm, crossing your arms stubbornly.

Minho chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Fine, let’s do everything. But we’re going to be pretty busy sneaking around the kitchen.”

You burst out laughing, the sound ringing out into the quiet night. Without thinking, you playfully punch his chest, and Minho counters by wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. His voice drops to a low murmur, teasing, “Doing it in the freezer is that what you’re saying?”

The bubble of your shared laughter is suddenly burst when Taesoo appears, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says dramatically as he plops himself down between you and Minho, forcing you apart.

Minho glares at him, his irritation evident. “Where the hell have you been? Do you know how long we’ve been waiting?”

But Taesoo cups his hands around his mouth and shouts loudly enough for the whole city to hear, “Chef Lee is dating in the kitchen!”

Minho claps his hands mockingly, clearly unimpressed. “Louder. Let the entire neighborhood know.”

Taesoo grins and obliges, shouting even louder, “CHEF LEE IS DATING IN THE KITCHEN!”

Minho leans back, shaking his head in mock exasperation before casually wrapping an arm around Taesoo’s neck. “Now that the world knows, you have to keep it to yourself in the kitchen.”

When Taesoo doesn’t respond immediately, Minho tightens his arm around his neck in a playful headlock. “Got it?”

“Y-yes, Chef!” Taesoo splutters, tapping out in defeat.

Taesoo settles down between you and Minho, a mischievous grin plastered on his face after his dramatic outburst. Minho loosens his grip around Taesoo’s neck and lets out a mock sigh. “You’re lucky I don’t kick you off this rooftop right now.”

Taesoo laughs, rubbing his neck theatrically. “Relax, Chef. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, is it? After you just announced it like that?”

Taesoo grins wider but then glances at you, his playful demeanor softening just a touch. “I wouldn’t actually tell anyone, you know.”

Minho crosses his arms skeptically, but you lean in, curious. “Why not?” you ask gently.

Taesoo shrugs, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Because you’re the nicest to me in the kitchen. You’re the only one who treats me like I’m more than just a kitchen assistant. You talk to me like I matter, and... I’d feel bad if I went around blabbing about your business.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you blink at him for a moment before smiling warmly. “Taesoo... thank you. That really means a lot.”

Minho looks between the two of you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Well,” he says after a beat, his tone still teasing but less sharp, “I guess you’ve got one redeeming quality after all.”

“Only one?” Taesoo shoots back, grinning again.

You laugh, pulling out the food you brought and setting it on the bench between you. “Alright, enough with the compliments or Taesoo’s head won’t fit through the door. Let’s eat before everything gets cold.”

The three of you dig into the impromptu feast, the atmosphere light and comfortable. You feel relieved to know that only the three of you know about this secret, oh and maybe the billion of stars blinking at the night sky tonight. But you can count on them to keep it safe for you too.

-

The faint light of dawn paints the horizon in soft golds and pinks, bathing the streets in a tranquil glow. Minho grips the steering wheel loosely as he drives home, feeling uncharacteristically light. Tonight had been... cathartic, in a way he hadn’t expected, and now, as the city slowly stirs to life, he feels at peace for the first time in weeks.

He doesn’t need to glance to his right to know you’ve fallen asleep in the passenger seat. The steady rise and fall of your breathing fills the quiet car, a soothing rhythm that matches the calm of the morning. Minho allows himself a rare smile, pleased to see you resting after such a long day.

When he pulls into his parking spot, he cuts the engine and sits there for a moment, glancing over at you. Strands of hair have fallen across your face, and without thinking, Minho leans over, brushing them aside with a featherlight touch. Your face is serene, lost in some peaceful dream, and for a brief moment, he’s tempted to let you stay like this. But he knows it’s not good for you to sleep in the car too long.

“Wake up,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We're here.”

Your forehead creases as your eyes flutter open, a sleepy haze still clouding your gaze. Minho watches as you try to orient yourself, finding it strangely endearing. Gently, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“What time is it?” you mumble, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Early,” Minho replies simply, his lips quirking upward at the corners.

You blink a few times, then, in your drowsy state, ask, “What do you usually do at this hour?”

He chuckles lightly. “Wash up, hit the gym, sometimes I have breakfast... sometimes I don't.”

That earns a small laugh from you. “Same,” you say with a little grin, as though you’ve uncovered some shared secret.

Minho shakes his head, amused. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?”

You roll your eyes but smile back, the kind of smile that lingers. “I just think it’s nice we have something in common.”

“Well, if it makes you this happy,” Minho teases, “should we have breakfast today?”

The offer takes you by surprise, and you tilt your head at him, curiosity glinting in your eyes. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” he replies coolly, leaning back in his seat. “Come over later. We’ll have breakfast together.”

You hesitate, your brows knitting together slightly as though unsure if he means it.

“Come on,” Minho coaxes, his tone playful now. “Make breakfast with me. I want to see if you can cook something other than pasta.”

Your lips twitch into a sassy smile as you shoot him a side-eye glance. “I can cook plenty of things besides pasta, thank you very much.”

“Good.” He smirks, satisfied. “Then come over and prove it. We’ll head to work together after.”

Your hesitation melts away, replaced by a shy but bright smile that warms something in Minho’s chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

Minho plays it cool, gesturing toward the door. “Alright, get out of my car. You’re drooling on the upholstery.”

You laugh and swat at him lightly before stepping out, still smiling as you close the door behind you. Minho watches as you walk away, unable to help the small smile that lingers on his own face.

-

There’s no time to waste once you step into your apartment. Dropping your bag onto your bed, you head straight to the bathroom, craving the refreshing wake-up of a quick shower. The water washes away the weariness of the long night, and when you emerge, you feel lighter and more alert.

Stepping out, you spot Sara already dressed, her appearance neat and polished despite the early hour. She glances up and smiles faintly at you.

“Good morning,” she greets softly.

You return her smile, wrapping your towel tighter around you. “Morning. You’re up early.”

She hesitates, then says, “Can I have a word with you?”

Something about her tone makes you pause, but seeing no harm in it, you nod. “Sure. Let me just—”

“Here,” she interrupts, pouring coffee into a mug and offering it to you.

You accept it with a quiet “Thanks” and follow her to the living room. The air feels heavier than it should for such an ordinary start to the day.

Sara settles into the couch, taking a slow sip of her coffee. You mirror her, letting the warmth seep into your hands as you wait. She doesn’t speak immediately, and you realize she’s stalling. Her smile is polite but thin, her eyes flitting between you and the coffee in her hands.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “Where were you and Minho coming back from?”

Her question catches you off guard. Your heart skips as you realize she must have seen you together—either in the parking lot or in the car.

“Taesoo’s place. We had some food together,” you answer simply, careful to spare her the details.

Sara nods, her gaze briefly dropping to her mug. She takes another sip, prompting you to do the same.

“I think you already know,” she starts slowly, her voice laced with hesitation, “that Minho and I didn’t just study together in Italy.”

You say nothing, sensing she isn’t looking for a response.

“We were... deeply in love,” she continues, her words steady now, as if she’s rehearsed them. “We were in a relationship. Rivals, yes, but also partners. We had dreams of becoming chefs in Italy together.”

She pauses, her eyes scanning your face. You remain quiet, cradling the mug in both hands as if its warmth could shield you from the vulnerability of the moment.

“But I made a mistake,” she admits, her voice softer. “I was greedy, and I lost him.”

Her gaze hardens slightly as she leans forward. “But Minho... he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted to be accepted by. As a chef. And as a woman.”

You feel your chest tighten as her words sink in. She’s not just baring her past—she’s staking her claim.

“And earlier,” Sara adds, her voice sharper now, “I saw the same look on your face.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and she presses on.

“I wanted to ask sooner,” she confesses, “but I was cautious. We work together. Live together. But now, I have to ask—do you like Minho?”

Her gaze pierces through you. “Is that how you feel, or am I mistaken?”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to stay composed and hold her gaze firmly as you answer, “No. You’re not mistaken at all.”

The confidence in your voice surprises even you. You’ve suspected for a while now that Sara’s return wasn’t just about proving herself as a chef but also about rekindling something with Minho. And while you don’t owe her an explanation, it feels like she’s doing this on purpose—To mess with your head.

Sara blinks, her expression faltering for a split second before she nods slowly. “Ah, I see,”

She opens her mouth to say something else—probably to cut you down—but you don’t give her the chance.

“I'm sorry but I need to get ready for work,” you say briskly, standing up. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Without waiting for a response, you head to your bedroom, closing the door firmly behind you but it seems like Sara is already succeed on messing with your head.

-

Minho leans against the counter in his apartment, staring at the now-cold plates of food he had meticulously prepared. The aroma of the breakfast he’d been looking forward to had faded hours ago, replaced by an unsettling quiet that seemed to echo his disappointment. He had waited long enough, but you never showed.

Sitting alone, Minho ate in silence, each bite more hollow than the last. Your absence lingered in his mind, nagging at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Did something go wrong? Did he misread the situation? His chest tightened at the thought that something might have happened to you.

Now at the restaurant, Minho stands in the hall, his arms crossed as he keeps an ear out for the sound of footsteps. When he finally hears them, his heart skips—but it’s only Taesoo. The younger man approaches, his usual meek demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic confidence. They exchange a knowing glance, and Taesoo silently zips his mouth shut with a gesture. Minho nods in acknowledgment, watching as Taesoo disappears into the locker room without another word.

Still, Minho stays where he is, debating whether to call you. Then, finally, he hears more footsteps coming up the stairs. His heart leaps, and he straightens up as you appear at the top. But something’s different.

The brightness he’s grown used to seeing in your face is gone, replaced by a faint scowl that unsettles him. Your shoulders are tense, and your expression is clouded, as though a storm is brewing behind your eyes.

Minho’s heart sinks further when you don’t even glance his way, heading straight for the locker room as if he doesn’t exist.

“Hey, you!” He calls, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his chest.

You stop but don’t turn to face him until his fingers gesture for you to come closer. Reluctantly, you obey, stepping forward without meeting his eyes.

Lowering his voice, Minho asks, “Why didn’t you come over for breakfast?”

You stare at him, your silence louder than any words could be. There’s something raw in your eyes—something that makes his stomach twist.

“What’s wrong?” he presses, his tone softer now. “Did something happen? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

Your voice is quiet but sharp as you reply, “Yes. Someone did hurt me.”

Minho straightens, alarm flashing across his face. “Who?” he demands, his voice firm. “Who hurt you?”

You look at him, your gaze cutting like a blade. “You did.”

The words hit him like a slap. His eyes widen in disbelief.

“Me?” he shrieks, his voice higher than intended. “When did I—what are you talking about?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you mutter something under your breath—too low for him to catch—then clamp your mouth shut, as though the words are too dangerous to say aloud.

Before Minho can ask again, you punch him square in the chest. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to startle him.

“What the—” Minho stares at you, flabbergasted.

“You deserved that,” you say, your voice trembling with something he can’t place—anger, hurt, or maybe both.

Before he can recover, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing there in stunned silence.

Minho watches you go, his chest still stinging—not from the punch, but from the sharp, cutting weight of your words. He stands frozen, replaying everything in his mind and if something wrong happened in between this morning and now.

-

Minho stands at the chef’s table, surveying the bustling kitchen as the lunch service begins. The usual energy fills the air, but his eyes are drawn to you. Your glum expression hasn’t changed since you walked into the restaurant this morning, and it’s unsettling.

Pushing personal concerns aside, Minho claps his hands to gather the kitchen’s attention. “Listen up! It’s graduation and admission season, which means family gatherings are in full swing. People want separate pasta dishes rather than full-course meals, so expect an overload of pasta orders today.”

The staff murmurs their acknowledgment, and Minho continues. “Pasta line will handle all the orders without help from entrée chefs unless absolutely necessary. It won’t be easy, but I trust you’ll manage.”

The kitchen erupts into motion as the first few orders come through. Minho shouts them out, and the organized chaos begins. As predicted, pasta orders flood in, pushing the pasta line to their limit.

You approach Minho’s chef’s table, placing two plates in front of him. “How many more?” he asks, inspecting the dishes.

“I still have four more after this, Chef,” you reply, your tone distracted.

Sara steps up, placing her plates on the table. “I’m done with my orders,” she announces, glancing at Minho. “Give me orders!”

Minho nods and redirects some of your orders to Sara, sending you back to your station. But as he observes you, it’s clear that something is off. Your movements are out of rhythm, uncharacteristically sloppy. Clams slosh out of your pan and onto the floor.

“You!” Minho snaps, his voice cutting through the clamor. “Did the clams come all the way here just to dive onto the kitchen floor?”

“I’m sorry, chef” you mumble, quickly picking up the pace.

But it doesn’t get better. Your cooking remains erratic, and Minho’s patience wears thin. He strides over to you and extends his hand. “Give it to me,” he orders, eyeing the pan.

You shake your head, gripping the handle tightly. “I’ll do it, Chef. I'll do it myself.”

Minho stares at you, his frustration mounting. “Do it right, then,” he mutters, stepping back to watch.

When you finally place the dish on his table, Minho takes one look and frowns. The pasta glistens with an unappetizing sheen, and the clams sit lifelessly atop it. He picks up a fork, poking at the dish before placing it down with a sharp clink.

“What’s the matter with you?” he demands, his voice rising. “The pasta and oil aren’t emulsified. Your hands and your mind aren’t working together—just like this dish. Now, what’s wrong with you?”

The kitchen falls silent. All eyes are on you as you stand there, head bowed. Minho’s stomach twists, guilt creeping in despite his annoyance.

“I’m sorry, chef” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I’ll do it again.”

“No,” Minho says firmly. He turns to Sara. “Take over the rest of her orders. Total of six, go!”

You nod, defeated, and return to your station. Minho watches as you scrape the failed dish into the trash, the weight of his scolding visible in the slump of your shoulders.

He sighs and calls you back to the chef’s table. You approach hesitantly, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Do you know why we stir these clam shells in the frying pan when we can't even eat them? You think we put in those shells that are ten times their size so we can eat the tiny bit of clam in them?” Minho begins, keeping his tone steady. “It is to keep the clam juice inside the shell. As it opens up, it should release fresh clam juice. For that reason, you have to stir at the same speed with the same strength so that all clams get cooked and opens up simultaneously. That is the key to make vongole.”

You nod but don’t meet his gaze.

“Aren't you going to answer me?” Minho presses.

“Yes, chef,” you reply softly, still avoiding his eyes.

The meekness in your voice is jarring, so unlike your usual spirited self. Minho waves you back to your station, but the sight of your retreating figure only deepens his confusion. What in the world is going on with you?

-

Minho’s head is already swimming with frustration as he walks toward Chris’s office after the dinner service. The last thing he wants is another conversation with the restaurant’s manager, but the summons was clear. He drags his feet, feeling the weight of the long day pulling at his shoulders.

Reaching the door, Minho knocks half-heartedly and waits until Chris’s voice grants him permission to enter. He steps in to find Chris tidying up his desk, moving stacks of papers into neat piles.

“Please, have a seat,” Chris says, gesturing to the sofa across the room as he joins Minho there.

Minho sits, his patience thin, and looks at Chris expectantly.

Chris wastes no time. The second he's seated on the sofa across from him, he asks, “How do you feel about sharing the chef’s office with Sara starting tomorrow?”

Minho’s brow furrows, the question catching him off guard. “Is that an order?” he asks flatly.

Chris leans forward, clasping his hands together. “Sara’s a chef, just like you. I don’t think it’s right for her to share a room full of guys who clearly don’t make her feel welcome. It’s only fair she has a better environment to work in.”

Minho doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t want to.”

Chris blinks, surprised by the blunt rejection. “It’ll help you two work better together. Sharing the space will make communication easier and—”

“I don’t want to,” Minho interrupts firmly, his voice low but resolute.

Chris leans back, exhaling in exasperation. “Sara deserves the same respect and facilities as any other chef. She has every right to use that office. Am I the one not making sense here?”

Minho leans forward, his eyes sharp as he looks around Chris’s spacious office. “Your office is nice and big,” he remarks, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Why don’t you bring Sara here instead? Let her share this space with you. Or is this really about what’s best for her? Maybe it’s more about what’s best for you.”

Chris’s face tightens, but he doesn’t respond immediately. Minho stands, brushing off invisible lint from his jacket.

“You can start by being honest about that,” Minho says coldly, heading toward the door.

“Chef,” Chris calls out, his tone final. “You’ll be sharing the room with Sara starting tomorrow.”

Minho doesn’t stop walking, his hand gripping the door handle. Without looking back, he steps out of the office and into the hallway.

Chris can insist all he wants, but Minho isn’t going to give in easily.

-

The parking lot is quiet, with only the faint hum of distant cars breaking the silence. Minho walks briskly toward his car, his thoughts scattered. He tries to focus on the day ahead tomorrow, but his mind drifts back to you—your distant expression, your unsteady hands, your reluctance to meet his gaze. He shakes his head, frustrated with himself for letting it bother him so much.

Just as he turns a corner, he spots you. Sitting on the steps leading to the dining hall, you’re hunched forward, your shoulders slightly slumped as if the weight of the day is pressing down on you.

Minho’s steps slow instinctively. Before he knows it, he’s approaching you. He stops three steps away and clears his throat to make his presence known.

Your head snaps back, startled, and then you quickly bow slightly. “Thank you for your hard work today, Chef,” you say, your tone polite but distant.

Minho clicks his tongue softly. He’s used to this—your tendency to put up a professional front when there’s something deeper bothering you. He sits on the steps, his posture relaxed, but his gaze fixed on you.

“Are you upset because I scolded you earlier?” he asks, his voice steady but probing. “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve been yelled at.”

You sigh, your gaze dropping to your hands. “It’s not just that,” you admit quietly. “Getting scolded... hurts my pride now.”

Minho tilts his head slightly, clicking his tongue again. “That’s a good thing,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

You glance at him, frowning slightly, but you continue. “It feels even worse now because... it felt like I was being compared to Chef Sara. Like I’ll never measure up.”

Understanding dawns on Minho, and he nods subtly. He remembers those days—when he was the one being compared, his pride crushed over and over until he thought he’d break.

He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “Getting your pride hurt is how you get better,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “If you just think your seniors are naturally better than you, you’ll never improve. Not in a million years.”

You look at him, your lips slowly curling into a faint smile.

“Being compared to someone better than you is what pushes you to catch up,” Minho continues. “And trust me, you will catch up. But you’ll only get there if you let that comparison push you, not break you.”

Your smile widens a little, and Minho feels a small sense of satisfaction. “From tomorrow on,” he warns with a smirk, “I’m going to compare you to Sara even more. I’m going to crush your pride even worse.”

Despite his words, your smile grows wider, your eyes softening as you look at him. “Yes, Chef,” you say softly, the words carrying a warmth that lingers in the air.

Minho moves down the steps, sitting next to you now. His voice lowers, the usual sharpness replaced by something more intimate. “Just because I like you doesn’t mean anything changes,” he says quietly. “You’ll still have to swallow your pride. More than ever.”

Your gaze flicks to him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yes, Chef,” you repeat, and Minho chuckles softly at the words he’s grown to love hearing from you.

Silence falls between you, but it’s the comfortable kind. The night air is cool, and the world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you in this moment.

After a while, you break the silence, your voice soft. “Having your pride wounded... is that really a good thing?”

Minho glances at you, his smirk returning. “Yes,” he says simply. “When you’re in trouble or your pride’s hurt, don’t get sad. Get even. Stand up tall and be jealous—it’s better than wilting like a dead plant.”

You chuckle softly, the sound light and genuine. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “What did I tell you to be?”

“To be jealous,” you reply, your smile growing.

“That’s right,” Minho says, his signature smirk deepening.

Silence falls again, but this time, it feels even more intimate. The tension between you is almost palpable, and when you turn to him again, your eyes meet his.

“I’m going to become a chef you can be proud of,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination.

Minho’s chest tightens at your words, a wave of affection crashing over him. The sincerity in your eyes, the way you want to make him proud—it’s endearing, almost too much to bear.

If you weren’t here, at the restaurant, he’d kiss you right here, right now. Instead, he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around your writst.

“It's cold. Let’s go home, mmh?” he says softly, standing and pulling you to your feet. You follow without hesitation, your hand still in his as Minho takes you home.

-

The moment the door to Minho’s apartment clicks shut behind you, the air between you shifts, charged with tension that had been simmering for weeks. You barely have time to glance around his apartment before Minho steps closer, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

“Finally,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with impatience.

Before you can respond, his hands cup your face, and his lips crash onto yours with a fiery intensity. The kiss is urgent, almost desperate, as if he’s been holding himself back for too long. Your hands instinctively clutch at his shirt, gripping the fabric as his lips move against yours, soft yet insistent.

Minho’s fingers slide down to your waist, tugging you closer until there’s no space left between you. His touch is firm but gentle, his hands warm as they settle on your hips. He pulls back for a fraction of a second, his breath mingling with yours as he stares at you, his pupils blown wide.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been holding back,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper.

Before you can reply, he bends slightly and scoops you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. You gasp softly, your arms wrapping around his neck for balance as he carries you to the sofa.

Minho lowers you onto the cushions with care but doesn’t waste a second before leaning over you, his hands framing your face as he captures your lips again. This time, the kiss is deeper, hungrier, and you respond with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The heat between you is palpable, every touch and kiss filled with emotions he’s kept bottled up—desire, affection, frustration, and something deeper he hasn’t yet put into words. His lips trail down your jawline, leaving a scorching path as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

Your breaths come faster, your heart pounding as his hands roam, his touch leaving sparks in its wake. Minho pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze intense and filled with an emotion that makes your stomach flip.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice barely above a growl.

You shake your head, breathless, and he leans in again, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that’s softer this time but no less consuming. His hands find yours, intertwining your fingers as he presses you deeper into the sofa.

Every kiss, every touch feels like a confession, a way for Minho to pour out all the feelings he’s been holding back. And as you kiss him back, just as fervently, you let him know without words that you feel the same.

-

Minho hovers over you, his eyes roaming your face, drinking in every detail. Your flushed cheeks, the slight parting of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls rapidly—it’s enough to drive him mad. Slowly, deliberately, his hands move to your shirt, fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it over your head and tosses it aside.

His breath hitches as he takes in the sight of you, his lips curving into a faint smirk. His hands move with purpose, tracing over your shoulders and down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his fingers find the clasp of your bra, he pauses, his gaze flickering to yours for permission. The soft nod you give him is all he needs. With practiced ease, he unhooks it, sliding the straps down your arms and discarding it.

Once the bra is out of the way, Minho glides his hands up to your ribcage and moves them to the side to cup your soft mound, fingers lightly rubbing the hardening buds, but his eyes... they remain locked with yours. They're dark and wide, filled with lust.

You mirror his movements, your fingers fumbling slightly as you unbutton his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to reveal the taut muscles of his chest. Your touch is hesitant at first, but as your hands run over his warm skin, Minho lets out a low hum, his eyes darkening with desire.

Piece by piece, the barrier of clothing between you disappears. Minho watches you with a mix of admiration and hunger, his hands grazing your bare skin, memorizing every curve, every dip.

He leans in, his lips pressing softly against your collarbone. From there, he works his way down, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin, each one lingering longer than the last. When his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, you gasp, your fingers tightening on his shoulders.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice possessive as he leaves a mark there, a reminder of this moment.

Minho doesn’t stop there. His lips travel lower, over your chest, your stomach, your hips, your thighs... each kiss filled with reverence and passion. Every mark he leaves feels like a promise, a declaration of everything he can’t put into words.

“Mine, mine, mine,” that's all Minho can mutter with his lips pressed to your skin.

When he returns to your lips, his kisses are slower, deeper, as if he wants to savor every second. His hands cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he whispers your name.

“You are mine,” he says, his voice raw with emotion, before pressing his forehead to yours.

The next thing you know, your back resting on his chest, your legs parting open and Minho’s hand relentlessly touching, teasing your bundle of nerves. You're squirming against him, moans spilling out of your mouth and Minho tries his best to contain it by kissing you.

As you spill your release on his hand, you turn your head to the side and he immediately captures your lips in a hard, deep kiss that steals your breath away.

Swiftly, he turns you over, having you lying on your side next to him. His hand curves around your thigh before lifting your leg over his, allowing him the access to penetrate you from the back. His fingers have no problem finding your clit, applying gentle pressures on it as he pushes his length inside you. Your moans are low and sultry, the kind that he won’t get tired of hearing over and over again, spilling out from your mouth until he's fully sheathed inside you. He then pulls you close until your body molds into his, becoming one.

With gentle but deliberate movements, Minho guides you into a rhythm, his touch and kisses all-consuming. Every movement feels like an unspoken conversation, his body communicating what words can’t: desire, care, devotion.

In the quiet intimacy of his apartment, with only the sound of your breaths and the occasional murmured name, Minho makes love to you, pouring everything he feels into every kiss, every touch, every whispered word.

-

Minho pulls a blanket from the side of the sofa, unfolding it with careful hands. The fabric is soft and worn, a perfect cocoon for the two of you. He drapes it over your bodies, tucking it around your shoulders before settling back against the cushions. There isn’t much space on the sofa, but that’s what he likes about it. No gaps between you, no room for anything but closeness. Every small movement has your skin brushing against his, your warmth sinking into him.

As your chest rises and falls with each breath, Minho unconsciously syncs his breathing with yours. The rhythm is soothing, intimate, as though your bodies are speaking their own language. Your head rests on his chest, one hand folded beneath your chin, and he can feel the softness of your eyelashes grazing his skin whenever you shift slightly.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head up, your eyes locking with his almost immediately. For a moment, he forgets what he was going to say, caught in the quiet brilliance of your gaze. His hand lifts to brush his hair back, steadying himself before he continues.

“From now on,” he begins, his tone even and measured, “I’m going to scold you non-stop in the kitchen.”

You blink at him, waiting for more.

“That way,” he adds, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “no one will get suspicious about us.”

A smile blooms on your face, and you nod. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho chuckles softly. “When I scream at you, just remind yourself—it’s my way of showing affection, okay?”

You nod again, that playful glint in your eye as you reply, “Yes, Chef.” But then, after a pause, you tilt your head, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So… the more you scream, the stronger your affection?”

Minho’s smirk deepens, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Exactly.”

You giggle, the sound light and infectious, and he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how easily he can amuse you. Your hand reaches up, fingers gently curling under his chin as you hold his face still.

“What about when you’re being nice?” you ask, your tone soft but teasing. “Does that mean you don’t like me then?”

“No,” Minho shakes his head, his gaze steady. “It means I like you too,” he answers simply.

You giggle again, your face lighting up as you lean closer. “So basically, you’re going to show me affection all day long.”

A smile breaks across his face, warm and genuine. “That’s right,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “I’m going to shower you with so much affection, you won’t even have time to complain. And if all that love and affection doesn’t make you better, then you’re in serious trouble.”

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch. “Got it?”

Your lips curve into a smile as you answer in that soft, melodic tone he’s come to adore. “Yes, Chef.”

The way you say it melts something in him, because to him, it's not just an expression of obedience but also devotion, and before he can stop himself, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is soft, tender at first, but he pulls away for only a second before diving back in, capturing your lips in a long, lingering kiss.

When he finally breaks away, it’s only to pull you closer, tucking you firmly against him. The two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until sleep gently claims you both.

-

You step out of the bedroom, still stretching the remnants of sleep from your limbs, and head toward the kitchen. The comforting hum of the coffee machine fills the quiet apartment as you prepare to make your morning coffee.

The front door creaks open, and Sara walks in, looking flushed and energized, like she’s just finished a workout. You offer her a polite smile and a soft, “Good morning.”

She returns the smile, her expression kind but guarded. “Good morning.”

“Coffee?” you ask, gesturing toward the machine.

Sara shakes her head. “No, thanks.” She moves to the other side of the counter, grabbing herself a glass of water.

For a moment, the kitchen is quiet, the only sound the faint gurgling of the coffee machine. Sara breaks the silence, her voice measured but clear. “I thought about what I said to you yesterday—whether it was wrong to tell you.” She pauses, taking a sip of water. “But now that I’ve said it, I think it was the right thing to do.”

You slowly turn to face her, leaning back against the counter as you meet her gaze. The warmth of the brewing coffee lingers in the air, grounding you.

“Thank you,” you say, your tone calm but sincere. “For being honest with me. For telling me the truth.”

Sara’s lips curve into a faint smile, and she takes a step closer, though she’s careful to maintain a respectful distance.

“I think the only way to do this is for us to do things our way,” she says, her voice steady and confident. “And because I promised Minho when I came to Farfalle that I’d be fair, I’ll only play fair and be honest—in everything. Including in getting him back.”

Her words are bold, but there’s no malice in her tone. It’s a simple declaration, as straightforward as a chef presenting a dish: no frills, no pretenses.

You tilt your head slightly, listening intently. There’s something admirable in her directness, her willingness to lay everything bare without disguising her intentions.

“If not,” she continues, her gaze unwavering, “then this victory wouldn’t mean anything to me.” She takes another sip of her water, her expression unreadable. “What do you think?”

You can see it now, the unspoken challenge in her words—a duel not fought with knives and flames in the kitchen, but with hearts and intentions.

You allow a small smile to form, meeting her eyes with a steady gaze. “Okay.”

Your single-word response hangs in the air, an agreement, an acceptance of the unspoken competition between you. Sara nods slightly, her expression firm but not hostile.

And as the coffee machine beeps, signaling your cup is ready, you can’t help but feel a quiet determination settling in your chest. Sara might be better in the kitchen than you but you’re competing for a whole different thing now and you're ready for it.

-

Minho’s good mood evaporates the moment he steps into his office and finds two members of the service staff maneuvering a desk through the doorway. His eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of them positioning it into the corner of the already cramped space.

“What are you doing?” Minho snaps, his voice sharp enough to make the workers pause mid-action.

“The manager told us to move this in here,” one of them answers hesitantly, gesturing toward the desk.

Minho clenches his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening. He distinctly remembers telling Chris he didn’t want to share his office, but it seems like Chris doesn’t care about what he wants.

Storming out of the room, Minho makes a beeline for Chris’s office, his steps quick and deliberate. Before he gets there, though, he spots Chris in the dining hall, clipboard in hand, inspecting the setup.

Minho stops in front of him, crossing his arms. “I told you I don’t want to share the office,” he says, his tone low but laced with irritation.

Chris looks up, meeting Minho’s intense gaze without flinching. “And I told you this was going to happen.” His voice is calm, almost infuriatingly so.

Chris doesn’t back down, holding Minho’s stare with equal intensity. “Why are you being so narrow-minded?”

Minho’s jaw tightens further. “Why are you narrowing my space?”

The two engage in a fiery standoff, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. Minho feels his patience wearing thin, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface. If this goes on any longer, he knows he’ll explode.

Without another word, Minho turns on his heel and storms away, opting for a different tactic. If Chris won’t listen, maybe Sara will.

He heads to the kitchen and spots her near the stock station, carefully stirring a pot of broth. Minho stops in his tracks, his frustration momentarily replaced by a flicker of professional instinct. The kitchen has been having issues with the stock lately, and he knows it needs to be addressed.

Deciding to step back, Minho retreats to his office and pulls out his phone. He fires off a quick text to Felix, asking him to meet in the office to discuss it.

A few minutes later, Felix strides into the office, his usual laid-back demeanor intact. He stands in front of Minho, hands in his pockets, waiting for him to speak.

Minho leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “We need to make a decision about this stock problem. Either we give in to Sara’s way, or she gives in to ours.”

Felix doesn’t hesitate, his answer immediate. “It's only right if she gives in. That was the only possible conclusion from the start.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at the certainty in Felix’s voice.

Felix shrugs. “If I thought I was going to give in, I wouldn’t have left the kitchen in the first place. I stand by what I said.”

Minho takes that in, nodding slightly. “Do you like the taste?”

Felix pulls a face, cringing dramatically. “It’s not that good, and I didn’t like it at all. Honestly, she’s just trying to win the power struggle.”

Minho nods again, this time slower, as if processing Felix’s words. “Alright,” he says, dismissing Felix with a slight wave of his hand.

Felix leaves without another word, and Minho leans back in his chair, staring at the desk that now occupies the corner of his office. He needs space—not just physically, but mentally—to figure out how to deal with both the office and the stock problem. But regardless of that, Minho has a feeling that Sara will still win, one way or another.

-

You finish tying the knot on your apron as you step out of the locker room, ready to start your shift. The sound of hurried footsteps behind you is your only warning before Felix grabs your arm, practically dragging you toward the kitchen.

"Felix, what—" you begin, stumbling slightly to keep up, but he interrupts you, speaking in a hushed tone.

"Chef asked me about Sara’s stock earlier," he says, his voice urgent. "And I, uh, might have told him I tasted it."

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes widening in horror. "What?! You lied about tasting it?"

Felix pulls you forward again, muttering, "It’s not lying if I already know what chicken stock tastes like."

"Felix!" you hiss, your voice rising slightly in panic. "That’s a fatal mistake! You know how thorough Chef is—how could you mess that up?"

"I panicked, okay?" Felix defends himself as the two of you step into the kitchen. "And it’s not like I’m completely wrong. Chicken stock is chicken stock."

You let out a frustrated groan, heading straight for the stove where Sara’s pot of stock still sits. Grabbing a ladle, you pour some into a small bowl, taking a spoonful to taste. The flavor hits your palate, and your stomach drops.

"This… this isn’t chicken stock," you say, turning to Felix with wide eyes.

Felix leans closer, frowning. "What do you mean? It tastes like it."

"It’s not," you insist, setting the bowl down. "Come on, we need to test this properly."

The two of you set to work, comparing Sara’s stock with the vegetable stock the kitchen has been using. You each cook three pastas, pairing them with white, red, and cream-based sauces. Once everything is plated, you spread them across Minho’s chef’s table, ready to taste and compare.

First, you both try the white sauce pasta. You twirl a forkful around and take a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "It’s not bad," you admit, "but the wine in the sauce stands out more than the stock. It doesn’t blend as well."

Felix nods, echoing your observation. "Yeah, it’s… okay. But not groundbreaking."

Next, you move to the cream sauce. Felix takes a bite first, his expression neutral. "The cream’s so rich, it overpowers everything else," he says.

You taste it for yourself and nod in agreement. "Yeah, there’s barely a difference."

Finally, you both dig into the red sauce pasta. The moment the flavor hits your tongue, you and Felix exchange wide-eyed looks.

"Wow," you breathe, genuinely impressed.

Felix lets out a low whistle. "She was right. The stock brings out the tomatoes’ savoriness, and the aroma—it’s so much better."

He runs a hand through his bleached blonde hair, ruining his already messy bun, and groans. "We should’ve tasted this before deciding anything."

You immediately snap your head toward him. "We? You’re the one in trouble here, Felix. Don’t drag me into your mess again."

Felix pales, realization dawning on him. He grumbles, "If Chef finds out we objected without even tasting it first, he’s going to make us take our uniforms off."

You let out a long sigh, tasting more of the red sauce pasta as Felix spirals. "Let me correct you again—you’re the one who’s in trouble, not us and definitely not me."

Felix continues to grumble under his breath, but you’re too focused on the food in front of you. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re impressed with Sara. Despite everyone being against her, she didn’t back down—and she proved herself. You take another bite, silently marveling at how bold and unwavering she was. Whether you like it or not, she’s earned a little respect.

-

The lunch service begins with the usual chaos brewing in the air, the kind that buzzes with both adrenaline and tension. Sara strides confidently to her station, placing a container of her stock front and center as if it were her crown jewel. Felix lets out an audible scoff beside you, muttering under his breath, "We don’t even have space for that."

You can’t tell if he intended for Sara to hear, but she does. Her lips curl into a smirk as she turns her head slightly, saying with calm confidence, "Why don’t we just unify it into one stock? Though for now," she adds, "I’ll only be using it for my triple-flavored pasta."

Caught between them, you feel the tension simmering, and a nagging thought creeps in—Felix's truth, or rather his lie, is bound to come back and bite him at some point.

Minho’s commanding voice pulls everyone’s attention to the chef’s table. "It’s graduation day," he announces, his presence radiating authority. "There'll be a flood for pasta orders. I want you to move your pans so fast that they're just a blur to me. Are we ready?"

"Yes, Chef!" the kitchen replies in unison, and the hum of anticipation turns into a full-blown symphony as the first tickets begin to roll in. The energy shifts instantly as the kitchen comes alive, the sound of sizzling pans and clattering utensils filling the space.

As you juggle pans in both hands, Minho appears at your station, his sharp gaze locked on your movements. He watches silently for a moment before stepping closer, reaching out to hold your wrists. His hands guide yours as he says, "Keep the rhythm fast but steady."

It’s impossible to keep your heartbeat calm with his touch commanding so much of your focus, especially when it’s in full view of the bustling kitchen. You glance at him, your lips twitching into a sly smile.

"Yes, Chef," you manage to say, hoping your voice sounds steadier than you feel.

He nods, releasing your hands, but not before reminding you, "Use your wrist for balance," before moving to Felix’s station.

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho’s sharp instincts kick in the second he watches Felix work. "Add more sauce," Minho orders, his tone direct. Felix, flustered, grabs a ladle from the container but accidentally knocks the entire thing over. The vegetable stock spills onto the stove and cascades onto the floor in a steaming mess.

The room freezes for a split second before Minho’s voice cuts through the chaos like a whip. "What are you doing? Don't you know how busy we are right now?"

Felix stammers out an apology, scrambling to clean up, but Minho is already turning to Taesoo. "Taesoo, why are you just standing there? Get him more stock!"

Taesoo hesitates, his brows furrowing. "Chef… that was the last of the vegetable stock. I was planning to make more after lunch... during prep time."

Minho’s eyes flick to Sara’s pot of stock, then back to Taesoo. "What is that then?"

"That’s Chef Sara’s stock," Taesoo meekly answers.

Minho’s jaw tightens, conflicted. "Change the stock now!"

Taesoo stutters as he asks Minho for confirmation. "To Chef Sara’s stock?"

"Then are you going to cook the pasta without stock?" Minho snaps, his patience running thin.

Taesoo complies, placing the container in front of Felix, whose face pales as though he’s staring at a loaded gun. He glances at you, muttering something you can’t catch.

You glare at him and through your gritted teeth, you say, "Don’t look at me. You dug this hole. You deal with it."

Felix grimaces as he reluctantly dips the ladle into Sara’s stock and pours it into his pan. Minho, ever perceptive, notices the brief exchange between you two. Without hesitation, he steps in between, dipping his wooden spatula into Felix’s pan to taste.

His expression falters for a moment, and he immediately tastes the stock on its own. The room feels heavy with silence as Minho’s piercing gaze lands on Felix, daggers practically shooting from his eyes. You exhale quietly, grateful beyond words that it’s not you standing in Felix’s shoes right now.

-

The rooftop air bites with cold, sharp gusts of wind cutting through the stillness, but Minho’s anger burns hotter than the chill. Felix and Taesoo stand before him, Felix’s defiance cracking at the edges, while Taesoo’s confusion is written all over his face.

What pisses Minho off the most about this isn’t just about Felix lying about Sara’s stock, it's because Felix lied about something he asked for his genuine opinion on and Felix let his petty hatred for Sara cloud his judgment like that. Minho takes a deliberate, unrelenting step toward him. His voice is low but sharp, like the edge of a knife as he asks, “You lied about the taste and you call yourself a chef?”

Felix flinches, his jaw tightening, but says nothing. Minho presses on, his voice rising. “While Sara spent hours, days, perfecting her recipe—while she was working, what were you doing? Criticizing? Lying? Wasting my time?” His arms fold tightly across his chest. “Do you honestly think you deserve to make pasta if this is how you act?”

Felix opens his mouth to defend himself, but Taesoo suddenly raises his hand hesitantly, like a schoolboy caught off guard. “Chef, I don’t mean to interrupt, but… why am I here?”

Minho shoots him a glare that could freeze fire. “You’re here because you didn’t make enough stock in the first place! What kind of kitchen runs out of stock during lunch service, huh? You’re supposed to anticipate these things!”

Taesoo shrinks under the weight of the scolding, muttering, “Yes, Chef.”

Minho’s voice drops to an icy tone. “Both of you—take your uniforms off.”

Felix’s eyes widen, his face going pale. “Chef, are you firing me?” he asks, panic creeping into his voice. “I know I was wrong, but— I left everything and came back from Italy when you asked me for help. How could you fire me like this?”

“Who said I was firing you?” Minho cuts him off, his tone as sharp as a blade. “I said take off your uniforms. Now.”

Taesoo blinks, his confusion deepening. “But, Chef… it’s cold.”

“I don’t care if it’s freezing,” Minho snaps. “Take it off! NOW!!!”

Reluctantly, Felix starts undoing his necktie, while Taesoo removes his chef hat. Slowly, they unbutton their chef coats, the icy wind biting at their exposed skin. Minho watches them without flinching, his expression unyielding.

The rooftop door creaks open, and you step out, pausing to take in the bizarre scene. Felix and Taesoo are shivering, with nothing covering their upper half bodies, while Minho stands before them like a judge handing down a sentence. He doesn’t acknowledge your arrival.

“How does it feel to take your uniforms off? Do you like it?” Minho asks, his tone dripping with disdain.

“No, Chef,” they reply in unison, their voices shaky as they hug themselves.

“Do you want to keep them off and stop cooking?”

“No, Chef.”

Minho steps closer, his gaze piercing. “If I catch either of you pulling something like this again, I’ll make sure you’ll never put those uniforms back on. Understood?”

“Yes, Chef,” they answer, trembling in the cold.

After letting the silence hang for a moment, Minho delivers the final blow. “Each of you owes me 100 push-ups. Start now.”

Felix groans under his breath, but neither dares to protest. They drop to the ground, their voices echoing across the rooftop as they start counting their push-ups.

Minho finally turns to you, sitting on the bench. You wordlessly hand him a lollipop, which he takes with a small, amused smirk. For a while, the two of you sit there, savoring your lollipops as Felix and Taesoo struggle through their punishment.

You glance at Minho. “What are you going to do now, chef?”

He withdraw his lollipop out of his mouth and raises a brow at you. “What?”

You pull your lollipop out of your mouth, twirling it between your fingers. “You’re going to have to acknowledge Chef Sara’s stock now that the sauces tasted better with it.”

Minho narrows his eyes, though there’s a faint conflict in them. Before you can press further, he turns his attention back to Felix and Taesoo. “Count louder! I can’t hear you!”

Their voices rise, and Minho leans back, savoring the sweet taste of his lollipop that masks the bitterness on having to accept his defeat to Sara.

-

Minho’s fingers drum rhythmically against the empty desk in his office, the sound filling the silence. The restaurant had another successful day, but exhaustion hangs heavy over him, though his thoughts weigh even more. Your question keeps looping in his mind, gnawing at him. What are you going to do now?

He sighs, staring at the desk like it might provide an answer. It doesn’t. His finger tapping grows sharper, almost impatient, as he wrestles with his thoughts. He hates it—admitting someone else is right. But Sara was right about her stock, and as much as it grates him, Chris’s words echo too. She deserves the same respect as a chef.

After another moment of frustration, Minho lets out a resigned huff and pulls out his phone. He types a short text to Sara, his fingers moving quickly: "Meet me in my office."

It doesn’t take long before there’s a knock at the door. Minho straightens, pushing himself off the desk. “Come in,” he calls out.

Sara steps in, the faint smile on her lips betraying none of the exhaustion he feels. She approaches confidently, her posture relaxed yet professional, her eyes meeting his.

Minho leans back against the desk, crossing his arms. “Your stock is good,” he says simply, his tone steady but measured.

Her smile widens slightly, though she keeps her response modest. “Thank you, Chef. I just finished perfecting it yesterday.”

He nods. “How long did it take you to get it right?”

“A very long time,” Sara admits with a soft laugh, her voice lighter than he expects. “But I pushed through because…” She hesitates for a moment, then continues, “...because I had you beside me. It motivated me to do better.”

Minho stiffens slightly, the personal undertone in her words prickling at him. His gaze sharpens as he leans forward, making sure there’s no room for misinterpretation. “This has nothing to do with our personal lives,” he says firmly. “I hope all you want from me is to be accepted as a chef, and you deserve that. So let’s share it—the kitchen and the office. Let's do it together.”

To emphasize his point, Minho extends a hand toward her. “Chef Choi Sara,” he addresses her with deliberate formality.

Sara takes his hand without hesitation, her grip firm and her expression warm. “Thank you, Chef Lee Minho,” she replies just as professionally.

Their handshake is brief but significant, a silent agreement between them. Minho watches her closely, his jaw tight but his expression softening just slightly. He hopes she understands what this means—nothing more, nothing less. Just professionalism, for the sake of the kitchen.

He releases her hand and straightens his posture. “That’s all. You can go now.”

Sara nods, offering him one last small smile before turning to leave. As the door closes behind her, Minho exhales deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

He looks at the desk again, then shakes his head. This is the right decision, he tells himself. But as he moves to gather his things, a flicker of uncertainty lingers in the back of his mind.

-

The next morning, Minho steps into his office, pausing when he notices the subtle changes to the space. Sara’s desk, which was bare just yesterday, is now decorated. A small potted plant sits in one corner, a neatly arranged stack of books in another. The sight makes him purse his lips, though his attention is quickly drawn to the pile of books.

Curiosity wins out, and he picks the one on top, flipping it open. It’s Sara’s recipe book. The pages are filled with detailed sketches of dishes, annotations, and scribbled ideas in the margins. Despite himself, he’s impressed by the level of detail.

The door opens, and Minho looks up to see Sara stepping inside. Her gaze lands on him holding her book, and she tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Planning to steal my ideas, Chef?”

He snaps the book shut and hands it back to her without hesitation. “Do whatever you want with it,” he says curtly, turning toward his desk.

Sara takes the book, setting it back on her pile. “Actually, I was thinking of sharing it with the cooks here.”

“Like I said,” Minho replies without looking at her, “do as you wish.”

Settling into her chair, Sara glances at him. “You should share your recipe book too, Chef.”

Minho lets out a dry scoff, shaking his head. “So you can copy my recipes? No thanks.”

Sara laughs lightly, unbothered by his sarcasm. “Well, I can’t say no to that offer.”

Minho shoots her a flat look. “I’m not sharing it.”

She shrugs, adjusting her chair and continues organizing her desk. “It might not be easy sharing an office at first, but we’ll get used to it.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at her, skepticism written all over his face. “I don’t see how it can be better than using the office by myself.”

Sara leans back, watching him with a faint smile. “Are you bothered by me, Chef?”

To be honest, yes, but Minho isn’t about to admit that. Thankfully, a knock on the door spares him from responding. “Come in,” he says.

The door creaks open, and Hyunwoo hesitantly steps inside, his expression uncertain. “May I… come in?”

Minho gestures for him to enter. “Sure. What is it, Hyunwoo?”

Hyunwoo shifts nervously but eventually speaks. “I wanted to ask if I could work in the pasta line.”

Minho exchanges a brief glance with Sara before focusing back on Hyunwoo. “What’s the reason?”

Hyunwoo looks down as he musters up the courage to honestly answer to the question. “I don’t know if I can become a chef with my background, but in the future, I dream of opening a small Italian restaurant to support my family.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “So you don’t want to make pasta because you love it, but because it’s a way to earn a living?”

Hyunwoo defends himself quickly. “Chef, being a chef is a profession. It’s not unreasonable to think that way. And pasta is one of the most popular dishes in Italian restaurants. I need experience if I want to succeed. But I noticed you only put your people in the important positions.”

Minho’s jaw tightens as he crosses his arms, offended by Hyunwoo’s words. “People who make good pasta get to make pasta. People who are good at grilling get to grill. That’s how it works.”

Hyunwoo avoid Minho’s gaze but his voice grows more determined. “All I’m asking for is a fair chance, Chef.”

Minho looks at Sara, who meets his gaze evenly. Finally, Minho turns back to Hyunwoo. “You may go.”

Hyunwoo bows slightly and leaves the office, closing the door behind him.

Once he’s gone, Sara lets out a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t like switching people around on the pasta line. It’s just now starting to run smoothly.”

Minho nods, considering her point. “Keeping people in their current roles could be a little selfish on our part, though.”

Sara tilts her head, studying him. “True. We should think about it and decide what’s best for the team.”

Minho leans back against his desk, arms crossed. His gaze lingers on Sara for a moment. This isn’t just about Hyunwoo, he realizes. It’s also a test of how well he and Sara can work together. And though he won’t say it out loud, that thought weighs heavier on him than he’d like to admit.

-

As everyone else is having lunch, you slip out of the restaurant to a café a few blocks down from the restaurant. This time, you glance around as you walk, making sure no one from the restaurant followed you this time. The memory of your last close call still makes you cringe to this day.

The café is quiet, a comforting hum of soft chatter and the occasional clink of cups filling the air. You sit at a small table tucked into the corner, the bag containing your surprise securely nestled in your lap.

The door chimes, and your heart skips when you see Minho step inside. Dressed impeccably as always, his sharp eyes scan the room. You raise your hand, catching his attention.

“Over here!” You shout, excitingly waving your hand in the air.

He spots you, and you notice the way his lips twitch, almost betraying a smile before he reins it in. It makes your heart warm—he’s always trying so hard to maintain his composed front.

As he approaches, you offer, “Do you want to order coffee, Chef?”

“I already had coffee,” he replies nonchalantly, pulling out a chair and sitting across from you.

Since he's already here, you pull the bag onto your lap and take out the small box. Without saying a word, you place it on the table, sliding it toward him.

Minho looks at it, and this time, he doesn’t fight the smile. It tugs at his lips as he glances at you.

“Chocolates? Are we kids?” he teases, but there’s no malice in his tone.

You tilt your head coyly. “What’s wrong with it? I’ve always wanted to do this on Valentine’s Day.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow but says nothing, his fingers brushing over the box. You point at the small card you tucked on top of the package. “Read it,” you urge.

He smirks, shaking his head. “You read it.”

You shake your head back. “Nope. You have to read it yourself.”

Minho leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully. “What did you write?”

“Just take it and read it when you’re alone,” you insist, suddenly shy.

He tilts his head, studying you. “Did you write it from the heart?”

You giggle, nodding. “Of course.”

Something flickers in his eyes, softening his expression. He takes the card and tucks it into the inner pocket of his jacket, then focuses back on the box. You catch a fleeting look on his face, something you’ve never seen before—wonder, almost awe.

“No one’s ever given me something like this,” he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual.

The admission surprises you, and your heart swells knowing that you get to be the first for him, you can't help but feeling special.

Minho opens the box, and a genuine laugh bursts out of him. The sound is rich and warm, the kind of laugh that you rarely hear from him.

You grin, unable to contain your own laughter as he looks at the chocolates inside—the assortment of truffles arranged around the word “Chef” written in chocolate, flanked by little heart-shaped pieces.

“Don’t just stare at them,” you say, chuckling. “Try one!”

He picks up a piece, pops it into his mouth, and chews slowly, his eyes locked on you. His expression is unreadable at first, but then he nods, swallowing. “This must be why people fall in love.”

The words take you by surprise, and you feel your cheeks heat. You reach for one of the chocolates, but he swats your hand away, pulling the box closer to him.

“They’re mine,” he says, his tone mock-serious. “You can’t have any.”

You pout, feigning an unamused expression and then lean back in your chair. “Ugh! Fine.”

As you watch him, your eyes linger on his face. You’ve admired Minho before—his sharp jawline, his perfectly shaped lips, the way his eyes seem to catch the light just right—but sitting here, facing each other in this quiet moment, you feel like you’re seeing him in a new light. The usual sternness in his expression is gone, replaced by a softer, more relaxed version of him.

It strikes you how beautiful he looks when he lets his guard down. His smile, rare as it is, transforms him completely.

“What?” he asks, catching you staring.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, looking away. But deep down, you know that this moment, with the two of you sitting together and sharing something simple yet special, will stay with you for a long time.

-

The chilly air brushes against Minho’s face as the two of you walk side by side, the world around you quiet save for the faint sound of your footsteps. Moments like this, stolen and fleeting, remind him how much he cherishes your presence. He glances your way, and when you catch him looking, you smile—a bright, unguarded expression that makes his chest tighten.

Minho shoves one hand deep into his coat pocket, clenching his fingers into a fist to resist the urge to reach for your hand. Touching you, kissing you—it’s all he wants to do, but even walking next to you like this feels like a rare treasure.

In his other hand, he carries the box of chocolates you gave him, and every time he looks at it, he feels an inexplicable elation. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? How something so small, so simple, could make him feel like this? His mind drifts to the card tucked inside his jacket. Curiosity simmers beneath his composed exterior, but he tells himself to wait. He’ll read it once he’s back in the safety of his office, away from prying eyes.

But the warmth in his chest is shattered in an instant.

The restaurant’s main entrance swings open with a loud clang, and Taesoo bursts through the door. His face is a twisted mix of panic and horror, his chef hat crumpled in his trembling hands. He stops dead in his tracks, eyes darting between Minho, you, and the restaurant behind him.

Minho’s brows furrow as he straightens up. “What’s wrong?”

Taesoo’s gaze flickers nervously, his breaths uneven. His mouth opens, but no words come out at first. Minho’s patience snaps.

“What’s wrong?” he accidentally raises his voice at him out of impatience.

Taesoo finally blurts it out, his voice rising in a mix of alarm and disbelief. “What have you two been doing?”

Your eyes widen, and Minho feels the tension radiate from you as you stammer, “What are you talking about? What’s happening?”

Taesoo’s voice breaks as he takes a step closer. “You’ve been caught!”

The words hang heavy in the air, freezing both you and Minho in place.

“Caught?” Minho repeats, his voice dangerously low, though his heart is pounding in his chest.

Taesoo nods frantically. “Everyone in the kitchen knows now about... you two!”

You gasp audibly, your hand flying to your mouth in a dramatic gesture. “Everyone?”

Taesoo nods again, his expression a mix of disbelief and regret, as if he wished he could have been the bearer of better news.

Minho exchanges a wide-eyed look with you, his mind racing. He can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the precarious balance of secrecy teetering on the edge of collapse.

“What do you mean everyone knows?” Minho asks, his tone cold and unyielding, though his voice falters ever so slightly.

But Taesoo doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps back toward the door, leaving you both standing in stunned silence.

You turn to Minho, panic clear in your eyes. “What are we going to do?”

Sadly, Minho doesn’t have an answer for that but he feels as though the ground beneath him has crumbled, and all he can do is brace himself for the inevitable fallout.

-

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[queshaji]

I kid you not the way my face got all red

THIS WAS SO GOOOOODDDD

필릭스 ─── hands on me

[ ⟡ ] ── NSFW, MDNI!  ✁ tattoo artist!felix x afab!reader , sliiight buildup , oral (f. rec) , unprotected p in v (don't be silly) this was a request ♡ i hope you like it ! ♡ masterlist

smut below the cut - minors gtfo.

it wasn't your first tattoo, but it was your first time going to this shop. 

what made it nerve-wracking was the fact that your tattoo artist, felix, was absolutely stunning. you had heard about him through a friend, and now, seeing him in person, it was impossible not to feel a little flustered.

felix was everything you imagined—and then some. his black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face that could've been carved by a master sculptor. the tattoos that covered his arms, neck, and chest were intricate and bold, each one telling a story. 

he also had a variety of piercings—small hoops and studs that caught the light in a way that was somehow both edgy and captivating. his warm eyes, though, were what really threw you off guard. despite his tough exterior, there was something soft, inviting, almost comforting about them.

but it wasn’t just his eyes that drew you in. you couldn’t help but focus on his lips, which were perfectly shaped—plump and naturally a little shiny, likely from the chapstick he kept applying. you found yourself getting lost in the way he spoke, your eyes lingering on his lips as he explained the tattoo process, trying not to blush every time he glanced your way.

he looked so damn good. and that only made your nerves skyrocket.

the tattoo itself wasn’t huge, but the idea of being alone with him, vulnerable as he worked on your skin, had you second-guessing everything. you had no idea how long you could stay still, especially with his hands so close to you.

after you filled out the paperwork, felix returned shortly, holding a few sketches he’d worked on. you had opted for a bite mark design on your inner thigh—something subtle but realistic, something that would look almost like a real imprint. you’d spent hours online researching, and now it was time to make it real. you looked at the options, your hand shaking slightly as you reached out to point at the one you liked the most.

“this one’s perfect,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. your gaze lifted to meet his, feeling heat creep up your neck. you tried to push the nerves down, but it was hard when he was standing so close, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst ways.

felix chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noticed your discomfort. his expression softened just a little, and he leaned in slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the spot you had pointed to. “don’t worry,” he said, his voice low and calm, almost teasing. “we’ll take it slow. you’ll be fine.”

you nodded, trying to calm the storm of butterflies in your stomach. felix’s confidence was reassuring, but you couldn’t shake the mix of excitement and nerves swirling within you. 

felix slipped on his black gloves, the latex stretching over his fingers with a soft snap. he looked up at you, his gaze shifting between the paperwork on the counter and the spot you had indicated for your tattoo. "so, where did you say you wanted it again? your inner thigh?" his voice was steady, but there was a slight curiosity in his tone, maybe even a hint of hesitation.

you nodded, setting your bag down on the table next to the tattoo chair, your hands slightly trembling from both nerves and anticipation. "yeah, the inner thigh."

felix seemed to hesitate, his eyes flicking to your leggings. you could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to phrase his question just right. "um... are those rollable?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward your leggings.

your stomach sank, realization hitting you. you had completely forgotten to bring a pair of safety shorts, the kind that would make this whole process a lot easier for both of you. you felt a knot tighten in your chest. "uh... no. they're not," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you avoided his gaze, suddenly very aware of your clothing.

felix's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly, clearly understanding the situation. he seemed to be weighing his words, a slight furrow of uncertainty crossing his brow before he spoke again. "are you comfortable with... taking them off?" his voice was gentle, yet there was a note of hesitation there, as if unsure how you might react. "if not, it's okay. we can always reschedule, do it another day."

you felt the pressure of the moment, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. you knew you had to get this done—work was about to pick up, and you didn’t have much time to spare. you couldn’t afford to reschedule. after a brief moment of internal conflict, you sighed softly and gave a small, reassuring shake of your head. "i can take them off. it's fine," you said, your voice a little more steady now. you offered a smile, though it felt slightly forced.

felix's expression seemed to relax at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing. he gave you a small, reassuring smile in return, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "okay," he said gently. "i'll give you some privacy, then."

with that, he turned and made his way toward the door. his footsteps were quiet, almost deliberate, and before leaving, he glanced back at you once more. "let me know when you're ready," he said softly before closing the door behind him, leaving you in the room alone.

you stood there for a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through you. you knew it was just part of the process, but it felt more intimate than you anticipated. still, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what came next.

you called out softly, "i'm ready," your voice steady despite the storm of nerves coursing through you. moments later, the door creaked open, and felix stepped back in, his gaze carefully neutral as he approached.

"alright," he said warmly, his tone professional yet kind. he kept his focus on your face as he moved to his workstation, ensuring you didn’t feel self-conscious under his gaze. "let me just get everything set up."

you nodded, clutching the edge of the chair lightly, your palms damp. the air felt cooler against your exposed skin, heightening your awareness of the situation. you reminded yourself that this was just part of the process—felix was a professional, and you were in good hands.

felix busied himself organizing his tools, laying out the stencil, and double-checking the placement. when he turned back toward you, he knelt slightly to meet your eye level, his tone gentle. "alright, i’m going to place the stencil now. let me know if it feels off, okay?"

you swallowed hard and nodded again, your throat feeling tight. "okay," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix moved closer, his gloved hands brushing lightly against your skin as he positioned the stencil on your inner thigh. his touch was firm yet delicate, and the closeness of it all made your heart race even faster. you forced yourself to stay still, focusing on your breathing.

"how does that look?" felix asked, pulling back slightly to give you space to examine the placement. his eyes met yours, soft and reassuring, as if sensing your nervousness.

you glanced down, grateful for the chance to break eye contact. the stencil looked perfect—exactly where you’d envisioned it. "it’s great," you said, trying to sound more confident. "right where i wanted it."

"good," felix replied, smiling slightly as he stood up. he moved to adjust his machine, the hum of it filling the room a moment later. "you ready to get started? i’ll go slow at first, so you can get used to the feeling."

you nodded, gripping the armrests of the chair a little tighter. "yeah, i’m ready."

felix leaned in again, his presence calming despite the anxiety bubbling within you. his voice was gentle as he spoke. "just let me know if you need a break, okay? you’re doing great so far."

the first touch of the needle against your skin was sharp, but it was the kind of pain you could endure. you tried to focus on the steady hum of the machine and felix’s soft, calming instructions. still, his closeness made it hard to relax—his body angled toward you, his breath occasionally fanning over your skin, and the subtle brush of his hand near your inner thigh sent your heart racing.

felix worked with a laser focus, his movements precise and practiced as he outlined the stencil. his professionalism was clear, but the proximity made it impossible for you not to notice every little thing—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hands through the gloves, and the way his dark eyes stayed intently on his work.

lost in his task, felix leaned in further, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. his knuckles brushed the outside of your underwear, a touch so light it could have been accidental, but it sent a jolt through you. the sensations from the needle—the sharpness, the vibrations—only seemed to amplify the growing heat in your core. you pressed your lips together, willing yourself to stay still, but the ache was becoming impossible to ignore.

as felix adjusted his position, his hand grazed just slightly closer, his knuckles brushing against your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. the contact was brief but electric, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it. the sound was barely audible over the hum of the tattoo machine, but felix froze instantly, his head snapping up.

his dark eyes locked onto yours, a mix of concern and something unspoken flashing across his face. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine care as he set the machine down on the tray beside him. his gaze flicked over your face, searching for any sign of distress.

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. the weight of the situation hit you all at once—the intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability of being in this position with someone like felix, and the fact that he had noticed your reaction. you nodded quickly, your face burning as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m fine," you said, your voice a little higher than usual, betraying your flustered state.

felix’s brows knitted together briefly, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. he tilted his head slightly, his tone softening even further. "you sure? we can take a break if you need."

you swallowed hard, shaking your head more firmly this time. "no, really, i’m okay. just... sensitive, i guess." you gave a nervous laugh, hoping to brush it off.

felix’s lips curved into a small, understanding smile, though there was still something unreadable lingering in his expression. "alright," he said gently. "but if anything feels uncomfortable, you let me know, okay?"

you nodded again, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as he returned to his work. his focus shifted back to the tattoo, but the tension in the air felt heavier now, charged with an energy neither of you acknowledged. you closed your eyes, willing yourself to stay composed, though the sensation of his hands and the steady vibrations made it a challenge you weren’t sure you’d win.

throughout the duration of the tattoo session, you tried your best to maintain a calm composure, hiding the telltale signs of your arousal as you and felix talked about random things. but felix could see and smell it all too clearly. the scent of your desire wafted through the air, filling his senses and causing an immediate reaction in his jeans. his member began to thicken and strain against the fabric, already tight on its own.

though he knew he needed to remain professional, the sight and smell of your arousal was impossible to resist. he couldn't help but lean in closer, selfishly inhaling more of your intoxicating scent as he worked deftly on your skin. as his breath brushed against your core, a shiver ran down your spine.

but then he caught a glimpse of your slick glistening through your panties, and he almost let out an audible groan. it was clear that you were completely turned on by him and his touch, and he couldn't resist pushing the boundaries just a little further. 

you squirmed slightly, the movement catching his attention. "still doing okay?" felix asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. the words were laced with a subtle edge, a hint of something more.

"y-yeah," you stammered, your voice unsteady. your face felt hot, and you avoided his gaze, knowing that if you looked at him now, you might lose whatever shred of composure you had left.

felix's lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he refocused on the tattoo. he told himself to stop, to keep this professional, but the temptation was maddening. his hand brushed against your thigh again, his knuckles grazing higher this time, and he swore he felt you shiver.

he glanced up, his dark eyes locking with yours. the room felt unbearably small, the air thick with tension. felix hesitated, his professionalism warring with the primal desire that had been building since the session began.

he leaned back slightly, setting the tattoo machine down. his gloves flexed as he adjusted them, his voice soft but firm when he finally spoke. "you’re... really sensitive here," he said, his words carrying more weight than their innocent meaning should have.

you swallowed hard, your breath quickening. "yeah, i guess so," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix leaned in again, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "if this gets too much for you... or if you need anything, just say the word," he said, his tone almost daring you to admit what he already knew.

the tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken desire. felix's hand had just brushed your slick panties again, his breath hot against your inner thigh, when you jolted slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips. your body was trembling, the sensations overwhelming as your arousal built to a point where you could barely think straight.

"felix," you breathed, your voice unsteady as you placed a hand on his wrist, stopping his movements. "i... i need a second."

he froze immediately, his dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, filled with concern. his hand withdrew gently, and he sat back slightly, giving you space. "are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with worry.

you nodded quickly, swallowing hard as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m just... it’s a lot," you admitted, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. you couldn’t meet his gaze, but when you glanced down, you caught sight of the prominent bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric. your breath hitched at the realization, and your eyes darted back up to his.

felix followed your gaze and cursed under his breath, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. "i’m sorry," he murmured, his voice rougher now. he shifted slightly, as if trying to relieve some of the pressure, but it was no use.

your heart raced at his words, a mix of embarrassment and intrigue flooding through you. "felix..." you started, your voice trembling.

he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours, his expression equal parts hesitant and desperate. "if this is too much, we can stop," he said, his tone sincere. "but... if you want, i can help you." his words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

your lips parted, your mind spinning at the offer. "help me?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "you know what i mean." he said, his voice dropping an octave, "i can take care of it. only if you want me to." his gloved hand rested lightly on your thigh, his touch both comforting and suggestive, and his eyes were pleading.

you hesitated, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you considered his words. the ache between your legs was unbearable, and the thought of his skilled hands—or more—bringing you relief was almost too tempting to resist. but the intensity of the moment, the sheer intimacy of what he was offering, made you pause.

"only if you’re sure," felix added, his voice softer now. "i don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with."

you gave him a nod, your voice wavering. “words, y/n.” he said, setting the tool down and taking his gloves off. “i-i’m sure,” you said nervously.

that was all felix needed. he yanked off his gloves, tossing them aside in a hurry. a growl rumbled low in his chest as he leaned in, his hand sliding higher along your thigh, skimming the edge of your panties. his lips were tantalizingly close to your skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. 

his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties, a teasing, feather-light touch that made you gasp softly. felix smirked, his eyes darkening as he saw the effect he had on you. "so wet," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against your clit through the fabric, drawing a whimper from your lips. "is this all for me?"

you nodded, your body arching into his touch as a soft moan escaped you. felix groaned, leaning down to press his lips against your thigh, his kisses slow and deliberate.

 he tugged your panties aside, exposing you fully to his gaze. your pretty lips were glistening, sopping wet with your essence. his eyes drank you in, and he licked his lips before looking up at you. "i want to make you feel good," he said, his voice husky with need. "will you let me?"

"please," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

felix didn’t hesitate. he dropped to his knees in front of the chair, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulled you closer to the edge. 

his touch was gentle and careful as he moved your thighs apart, mindful not to disturb your freshly inked skin. with one hand holding your panties to the side and the other spreading your lips open, he marveled at the sight between your legs. "fuck, you're so wet," he murmured before leaning in for a taste.

the sensation of his tongue piercing against your sensitive flesh caught you by surprise, but it was a welcomed one. a wave of satisfaction rippled through you as he flicked his tongue against your clit with skilled precision. your hand found its way to his head, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging occasionally in pleasure. he looked up at you, a hand running along the inside of your thigh as he lavished attention on your bud.

a deep growl rumbled from his chest as he buried his face deeper into your cunt, sucking and licking with fervent desire. you couldn't hold back the loud moan that escaped your lips or the way your body arched towards him. "just like that," you praised him through heavy breaths, hips bucking against his face desperately.

it was too much. the sight of felix between your legs, his nose buried in your mound and the wet, sloppy noises of him eating you out sent a sharp pang to your core. with a few more sucks from his mouth, you came undone - stars exploding behind closed eyes and pleasure coursing through every inch of your body. felix eagerly lapped up every drop of you, not pulling away until you gently guided his head off of you.

he stood up in front of you, smiling down with pride and lust in his eyes. "feeling better?" he asked playfully. you could only nod, cheeks flushed darkly from the intense encounter that had just occurred. your gaze drifted down to the prominent bulge in his jeans, knowing that he needed release too. "let me help you," you muttered, eagerly reaching for him.

felix’s grin faltered for a moment as your words sank in. his dark eyes widened slightly, and then his smirk returned, this time tinged with a hint of surprise and desire. "you don’t have to do that," he said softly, though the way his voice betrayed just how much he wanted you to.

you swallowed hard, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, but your gaze remained fixed on the straining bulge in his jeans. the thought of him, thick and hard, made your core clench again. you shook your head, your voice steadier now. "i want to."

felix’s jaw tightened, and he let out a low groan, as though he was fighting every instinct he had. "are you sure?" he asked, his hands flexing at his sides. "this wasn’t supposed to go this far. i... i don’t want you to feel pressured."

you stood slowly from the chair, your knees still a little shaky, but your determination unwavering. your hands reached for his belt, and when you looked up at him, your eyes were full of intent. "i’m sure, felix," you said softly, your fingers working the buckle open. 

he let out a sharp breath, his restraint snapping as he nodded. "fuck," he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "i’m not going to hold back, then."

with that, felix helped guide you as you undid his jeans, his cock springing free, the sight making your breath catch. he was surprisingly thick, the head flushed and already leaking precum, and the sheer size of him only made your arousal spark anew. felix leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he pulled you flush against him. 

“bend over that counter for me.” he instructed you, patting your barely clothed ass. you did just that, bending over the counter and arching your back for him slightly. he yanked your panties to the side again, getting behind you hurriedly. he rubbed his fat tip against your wet lips, coating himself with a groan. he pushed himself inside you slowly, as if savoring every inch being swallowed by your cunt. each second of his cock filling you was pure bliss; he felt divine. 

he buried himself to the hilt, a low, throaty groan leaving his lips. he ran his hands up your back, catching your shoulder to pull you back against him. “oh, you feel so good,” he grunted, slowly pistoning his cock in and out of your cunt. he lifted your leg carefully, helping you rest it on the counter so he could fuck you better. 

his hands roamed your body as he fucked into you, one of them resting in the crevice of your thighs and your hip, squeezing into your flesh. he sped up quickly, rutting into you with low growls and curses. his thick tip massaged your g-spot so deliciously, making a pit form deep in your stomach. you whined loudly, crying out in bliss as he stretched you fully.

felix abruptly halted when he heard a sharp knock at his door, and he cursed under his breath. "i'm with a client," he hollered, his hands still kneading your flesh while he paused inside you. the sound of footsteps retreating from outside his door made him exhale heavily with relief. he quickly returned to thrusting into you with renewed vigor, the thrill of almost getting caught fueling his actions. 

as he continued to fuck you senseless, you whimpered in excitement, knowing that any minute someone could walk in on you both. "you almost got us caught," felix growled, increasing his pace to an unrelenting one as he whispered dirty words in your ear. the possibility of being caught only heightened the intense pleasure pulsating through your body, and you couldn't help but moan louder with each powerful thrust.

felix moaned loudly as your pussy tightened around him, fluttering and milking him with every delicious movement. "f-fucking...shit, you're gonna make me cum already," he choked out hoarsely. his fingers dug into your skin now and his hips were moving quickly and urgently as he chased his release.

your ass slapped against his waist, the loud clapping sounds echoing in the room. "cum in me," you whimpered, glancing back at him over your shoulder with pleading eyes. he didn't need to be told twice and obliged, your words sending him over the edge in no time. with a deep growl, he threw his head back and bit his lip as he emptied himself inside of you. he pumped you full with his load, his cock twitching with each spurt of cum.

you whined in pleasure, your eyes fluttering closed as he continued to thrust slowly in and out of you, mixing his release with your own essence. his gaze never left where your bodies were connected, as if he was in a trance from how thoroughly fucked out he was. 

he finally pulled out wetly, helping you stand back upright. “are you okay?” he asked, tucking himself away quickly and helping you fix your panties. you nodded, still dazed from the thorough fucking he gave you. “yeah, th-thanks for helping me,��� you looked up at him, a dark blush on your face. 

he grinned and zipped his pants back up. “don’t mention it,” he nodded toward the chair. “should we continue?”

needless to say, you continued. and you definitely would be coming back.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[baby-yongbok]

Catch The Moment - Lee Know x afab!Reader

⤷ Content warning - Themes of pregnancy ⤷ WC - 0.8k ⤷ Summary - You tell Minho something special in the perfect place to capture it. ✧ Masterlist ✧

“It's gonna eat my money.” Minho scoffs as you drag him into the photo booth in the far corner of the busy arcade. 

You smile, rolling your eyes and mulling over the selections on the screen. You choose the decorations for your photos while he watches with a pout.

“Oh will you stop it, Min. It'll be fun, come on! We did this on our first date, remember?” You look into the camera and see that he's looking over at you on the screen.

“Yeah, well, these machines are old now. They never replace them, and -” He hushes when you press the start button. 

Minho lets his argument die on his tongue with a dramatic huff and eye roll that gets you chuckling.

“It's about capturing the moment, baby.” You take his hand in yours, looking over at him with a smile that softens his core a bit.

 “And what moment are we capturing exactly?” He looks down at you with a lopsided grin, his bright brown eyes shining down at you. 

Today’s outing was your idea. A cute date at a nearby cafe and the arcade after, just like your first date. 

“Well…” You trail off, smiling way too wide for him not to find it suspicious. “I have something to tell you.” The booth starts counting down to your first photo after going on its programmed spiel about how it works. 

Minho raises his eyebrows, intrigued. 

The shutter goes off. 

“What?” He looks over at the screen of the booth then back at you. It’s preparing to take the next picture. 

“You know it's taking the pictures right?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

You nod and he looks at you expectantly. The booth starts counting down again and you dip your hand into your jacket pocket and present him with a blue and white pregnancy test. You hold it in your palm, smiling up at him. 

He looks confused for a second, just a second before his eyes widen at the wand in your palm. 

The shutter goes off. 

“Wait.. you're serious? Jagiya, are you serious?” You giggle at him, red at the tips of his ears with sparkling wide brown eyes. You nod and the booth prepares to take the third photo. 

“I'm pregnant.” You announce through a toothy smile. Minho takes the test from you, staring down at the positive result with a sense of wild wonder. An excitement you've never seen him wear before. 

“You're pregnant.” He parrots as the booth counts down to the next photo. He breaks out into a smile, nearly bigger than your own.

The shutter goes off.

“We're pregnant.” You mutter, tears starting to well up in your own bright eyes.

 “How long have you… when did you take this test? What are… you're pregnant.” Minho rambles, his smile fading and reappearing seconds after as he processes the news. 

He settles on giving up on his questions for now. The booth prepares to take its final picture and Minho looks up at you. He doesn't speak. He can barely breathe with the pressure of shock and excitement multiplying in his chest every couple of seconds. 

His emotions are a mess but one thing is clear to him. One thing floats to the top of everything else and pushes him closer to you in the booth. The test is in his lap, his hands cup your cheeks and the booth counts down. 

“I love you.” He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. A tear falls from your eye as some brim at his waterline. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet. You both can't help but to smile into it. 

The shutter goes off. 

“I love you so much. I can't believe this.” He mutters against your lips, kissing you again, a bit longer this time to hide the fall of his own tears.

The booth prints the pictures, ejecting them into the printer slot and Minho pulls away reluctantly to retrieve them.

You look over them together, smiling at the way it captured his reaction to the news perfectly. 

“You’re a sneaky little thing.” He smiles over at you. “You planned this. This is why you wanted to go out today, isn't it?” 

“Guilty.” You chuckle, wiping your eyes. Minho looks back into his lap and picks up the test.

“Let's do it again.” He takes out another five dollar bill and pops it into the machine. “Tell me all over again.”

“What happened to it eating your money?” You tease, quickly selecting the photo customizations again.

 Minho turns to you, moving the first print of photos out of sight. “I don't care about that.” You chuckle at his change of heart. The sparkle in his eyes gleams bright in the lights of the booth. 

He cups your cheeks again, “I want to relive that. Tell me again.”

The booth starts up and you smile up at him. “Tell me.” He doesn't try to hide the tears threatening to spill over this time. He keeps his eyes on yours, a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

The booth counts down.

“I'm pregnant.” A tear falls. 

“Again” He mumbles and your own tears start to fall.

“We're gonna be parents.” You smile and he kisses you. Soft as a feather and full of love. 

The shutter goes off. 

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[seungfl0wer]

*𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏*

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader (GN)

Genre: Comfort? (tiny tiny angst)

Warnings: Basic mentions of panic attack, Reader has some trauma but it’s not really in detail. Reader has a mean brain lol. Idk what else to really put? Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings.

A/N: this was the black heart one yall voted for! Hope you enjoy I really don’t know what to put for warnings so I’m sorry if I missed anything big. Please let me know!

-🖤

Work felt like it drug on today. It felt like you’d never leave. Every dumb customer that came in or everything dropped just added to it. When you finally left and got home you just plopped into bed. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep. Body feeling heavy from the day. You were woken up about 4 hours later from a strewn of texts and calls from your boyfriend.

“Babe are you on your way?”

“I got us a table already”

*2 Missed calls*

“Pup?”

“Hello? Are you asleep?”

*3 Missed calls*

“I’ve been here for like an hour, I guess you’re not coming”

Your heart stopped panic setting in, you scrambled jumping out of bed. You completely forgot that Seungmin and you had a date today. You frantically called him hoping, your stomach doing back flips as it rang. He didn’t answer. He didn’t answer.. This was it you thought. You felt tears pricking at your eyes, it felt like you were gonna puke. All your past experiences with exs had your head reeling. He was gonna dump you, scream at you for it and then just dump you.

You started to bawl, endless wave of tears pouring from you. You were sobbing uncontrollably hands shaking as you prepared for the worst. Maybe he’d just ghost you and save the hurtful words. “I’m so fucking stupid, this is it. It’s over I fucked up. He hates me.. fuck he hates me” you sobbed harder. Your chest was becoming more tight gripping on your pillow as you cried. You felt like the world was just crumbling down. It shouldn’t be a big deal but past traumas and how the day was just.. couldn’t stop your brain from bullying you into thinking the worst.

In your panic you didn’t realize you had accidentally called him again. Your phone somewhere on the floor at this point. This time he had picked up, he could hear everything. Was he a little upset? Yeah of course. However he knew you were probably just tired and of course would never do it on purpose. He was already on the way to your place with dinner from the restaurant.

He was gonna hang up, wanting to get there to console you in person. But he heard your words. He knew how things had gone down with your ex and he knew what was probably going through that little brain of yours. He didn’t knock when he got there opening up your door before putting everything on the counter. He made his way to your room and when he slowly opened the door he saw you. Curled up in a bawl sniffling as you tried to calm yourself down.

“Pup” he said softly making his way towards you. You didn’t answer though, you couldn’t hear much of anything right now honestly. Everything just felt like you were floating, like you weren’t actually there. “Hey” he said gently, as he rubbed you back. You jumped turning quickly to see him.

“Min- I- I’m so sorry- I’m so so sorry” you mumbled out. You couldn’t stop the flood of tears that came pouring out once again. You just felt awful, your head still spinning with the worst possible thoughts.

“Ssh ssh it’s ok, everything’s ok.” He said pulling you into his arms. He rubbed your back letting you cry as you needed. “I’m not mad at you, you didn’t mean to pup it’s ok” he said as softly as he could.

“I was just so tired- and I-“ you stuttered out.

“Ssh pup, really. Really it’s ok. I love you. I’m not mad. Things happen. Get out of that mean brain of yours” he said making you smile a little. “There’s that cute smile” he said kissing your forehead.

“Minnie really thought I’m sorry” you started to say.

“How about you make it up to me in kisses?” He said cheesily.

“All the kisses you want” you said smiling up at him.

“Good I’ll take my first one now” he said pulling you into a sweet kiss.

He eventually pulled you out of bed, bringing you to the living room to finally eat. You sat there eating for a bit before either of you really talked. “I really am sorry” you said in almost a whisper.

“I know, but it’s alright. Like I said things happen pup. It doesn’t mean I’m just gonna leave you over it. You’re stuck with me. You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy” he said with that cheeky little smile of his.

“Good.. I don’t wanna get rid of you.. ever” you said finally fully smiling at him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫・h.j

—for months you have dealt with constant intrusive thoughts, wondering what life was like before your head was swarmed with anxiety—until one day, you wake up and it isn't your OCD that you remember—it's hyunjin. alternatively: you find hyunjin baking your favorite sweet treat and you fall even deeper in love with him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・hyunjin x gn!reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・hurt and comfort, established relationships, one sided angst, me trauma dumping, tooth-rotting fluff // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.4k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・reader with OCD, could be read as any sort of obsessions + compulsions but focuses on the obsession of time and the thought that this state of mind will never change, one curse word, kisses, so so many kisses, kisses that end in food fights, food being made that ends in kisses, was the food ever actually made? the world may never know. // 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭・je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson

𝐚/𝐧・this kind of really sucks, but i decided to throw away my perfectionism for a little bit and just pour my soul out instead. I've recently been dealing with some serious OCD symptoms and I am trying to get a phycologist to help me navigate these symptoms and get diagnosed, but I thought of this today what it would be like to not wake up and immediately remember my anxiety and my obsessions...then started sobbing :D then hopped on my computer and wrote through the tears haha. edit cookie: I wrote this in early December hated it decided to post it anyways in the small happenstance that somebody might relate to it, I hope that somebody out there feels even the smallest comfort from it :)

You wanted to run away—to take Hyunjin by the hands and disappear into the forest brush; to press your palms into the earth until it felt as though your fingers had become roots, twisting and tangling, becoming one with the trees. You longed to rest beneath the grass, to watch as the stars sang like fairies, strung in sweet, serene stillness. You wanted to trace constellations on his skin, set fireflies alight in his eyes, to kiss him until you were sick of it—until your lips could bear no more.

You wanted to run away and never look back, but 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 always had a way of looking back at you. One day, you awoke, and all the stars had fizzled out—ripped from the sky like a fallen angel's wings. Your world had been dipped in ink, a single drop that spread underneath your eyelids as though you had never woken at all. It consumed you, a once-magical world stolen in a single moment, leaving you completely and utterly under their control.

The trees had grown thick with leaves, their vines crawling up your spine; creeping across your legs, your feet, your teeth. Go away, you wanted to scream. Go away, go away, go away! But the more you squirmed, the deeper they sank their thorns in. There was no escaping; you had become one with the fear, one with the shadows. The sense of what had been faded out, swallowed by the crippling uncertainty of who you were 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 the darkness returned.

Months later, that feeling still hadn't left, and it terrified you to imagine it never would.

In the small stretch of time, floating on the edge of an in-between, is where you felt most at peace. Only a heartbeat short of two seconds, where sleep was nothing but an echo, yet the world had not quite begun to spin again. And for a breath, as you stretch your palm across the silky sheets, still warm from the imprint of Hyunjin's body, you didn't think about 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞; you didn't think about anything but him.

You stay here long after the world began to spin again—waiting, wondering, sinking deeper into the thought of him: the fallen star nuzzled just beneath his eyelid, the feel of his fingers, soft and saccharine, brushing over your knuckles; the way his lips taste like oranges and his skin smells like fresh rain. You study every moment as though they were going to fade away—fluttering from your palms like ashed scrolls.

Then suddenly, it hits you. There were no intrusive thoughts, no anxieties—nothing but the ache where Hyunjin should have been; an ache that consumed you so greatly that you didn't have enough time to worry about 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. The realization sinks deep into your bones, pulsing in tandem with your trembling heart—everything felt so overwhelming in that bed, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 flooding back in. Though this time, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 tasted bittersweet—a distant, muted sour, a small break from the usual loud, potent flavor it tended be.

Something about the thought made your chest feel heavy, your head feel loud. You wanted to ask yourself so many questions, so many things you didn't have the answer to, but instead, you decide to search for Hyunjin, rising to your feet.

The faint scent of bananas and honey wafts through the crack in the door, slightly ajar from where he had left minutes before. You follow the scent down the hall, willing your trembling legs to hold you steady, though the sight that awaits you makes you weak in the knees for an entirely different reason.

Hyunjin's standing above the stove, still disheveled in his pajamas, swiftly whisking a bowl of batter. Beside him lays a cutting board with sliced bananas and a bread pan, the inside sticky with butter. And when he tilts his head to check the stove's timer, you notice the streak of flour smeared on his cheekbone, and for whatever reason, that detail absolutely destroys you.

Dewy-eyed and weak, you shuffle towards him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to shake the whisk from his hand. Hyunjin jumps, startled by the sudden touch, before he blanches, watching a single tear fall from your lash line.

The bowl drops onto the stovetop with a soft thud.

One second, you are feeling his heartbeat flutter underneath your palm, and the next, it is pressed against your cheek, the tip of your nose nuzzled into his throat. You breathe him in, filling your lungs up until it feels as though your chest has blossomed with the subtle scent. Hyunjin smelled like the forest's first breath—a faint, delicate petrichor that clung to his skin, as if he was the creator. A smell that brought you right back home.

"My love, what's wrong?" His voice hums against your cheek, trembling with a worry you were so reluctant to cause. It takes you centuries to speak, brushing through the vines creeping up your throat.

"I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought of was you," you whisper.

Hyunjin stills underneath your palms, his breath catching like weeds in his throat. It killed him to see you this way, utterly terrified by the very person he was so overwhelmingly besotted with. For months, he guided you through it, every restless night, every bad day, murmuring into your hair—when there's darkness look for the stars—with his hand held tight, you would argue "but there are no stars."

So Hyunjin created some. Every night before bed, he would coat your thoughts in honey, so with every kiss you would be reminded of him, and not them. It almost brought him to his knees, knowing all his hard work paid off.

He was over the moon, grateful tears collecting on his lash line. It takes him three shuddering breaths to push the words off his tongue—falling into your ears like sweet nectar.

"Oh, baby," he chokes, capturing your cheeks between trembling palms, still mindful of his sticky fingers. "I'm so glad, baby, I'm so fucking glad." Hyunjin can't hold himself back as he leans his forehead against your own, pressing his lips to yours.

He tastes like oranges and joy, so, so much joy it's dizzying. You seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, then his chest. He pulls you closer, so impossibly close, it feels as though your heartbeats have taken root within each other, a love sprouting through a single passionate kiss.

When there is darkness look for the stars—it was a quiet night four months ago when you first heard those words, nestled under the nighttime sky; his cheeks freckled with moon dust.

You could still feel it, the way your heart overturned as you shoved the words out of your mouth. It was embarrassing to talk about—how could you explain something you didn't understand? How could somebody sympathize with something that was so crazy?

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a while after that, bestowing your words with all the deference you deserved. It felt as though you had died a million times before he finally decided to speak.

"When there is darkness, look for the stars." At first, you stammered, both confused and slightly offended—that was, until he hooked his finger under your chin and kissed constellations onto your skin, spreading the galaxy inside your eyes until that was all you could see, all you could think.

It was that night where it all began.

It takes one clumsy kiss for him to accidentally smear a fat strip of batter across your cheek, breaking your makeout with a startled gasp. He goes wide-eyed, only slightly apologetic as he breaks out into a smile, seeing how adorable you looked—lips swollen and red, banana and flour smudged on your face.

"Baby—" Hyunjin doesn't get to finish his sentence, not before a slice of banana is catapulted onto his forehead, sticking with an audible thwap. He yelps, utterly gobsmacked, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

You begin to laugh, a rib-splitting, belly-gripping guffaw that resounds throughout the entire kitchen. With a playful scoff, Hyunjin grabs a handful of bananas, flicking them at you like bullets. You don't stop throwing food at each other until your stomachs burn with laughter and the floor is coated with enough ingredients to make banana bread itself. Hyunjin pulls you in, lips dusted with flour and giggles. He presses his smile against your own.

You realize then, blossoming with adoror, you had been so focused on what it was like 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 that you never stopped to think about how 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 didn't include Hyunjin.

Maybe, just maybe, you could get used to 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫.

cookie owns this. thank you.

[4linos]

ghosts of the past

hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

synopsis/request: the more hyunjin compares you to his ex, the more you begin to lose yourself in the relationship. after an emotional confrontation, hyunjin is left to reflect on his past and his feelings for you.

wc: 2273

The tension between you and Hyunjin had been building for weeks, making it difficult to ignore. It was hard to understand at first. Just small changes; he was more easily distracted, distant when you tried talking to him, and his smile didn't reach his eyes like it once did. What stung the most were his silent remarks. Every now and then, he'd casually mention his ex-girlfriend, Nabi, and you'd brush it off, thinking yourself it was just a harmless slip of the tongue, a hint of nostalgia that wasn't supposed to hurt.

You knew about Nabi. You'd met her once before things between you and Hyunjin became serious. She was sweet and smart, and it seemed that they had parted ways peacefully. There was no animosity. They had been friends for a long time before they started dating, and even after their breakup, they had maintained a respectful, even friendly relationship. You can understand that friendships from previous relationships weren't forgotten quickly. But it wasn't only her presence in the background that bothered you. It was the constant, unintentional comparisons Hyunjin made, as if everything he said or did was subconsciously weighed against what Nabi had done in the past.

The first few times it happened, you convinced yourself it was only a throwaway comment, a moment of exasperation that didn't mean much. But as the weeks passed, you saw a pattern: anytime Hyunjin was upset with whatever you did, whether it was how long you took to get dressed or how you handled a situation, he'd always make a remark about how "Nabi never did that" or "Nabi would've understood."

And it stung. Every time it gnawed at your insides, you stayed quiet. You didn't want to seem insecure or petty. Maybe he didn't really mean it. Maybe it was all in your head.

But today, as you stood in front of the mirror, checking your reflection before heading out to your friend’s birthday dinner, something inside you snapped. You had tried to shake off the feeling of being second place, tried to brush it aside as just your own insecurity. But today? Today, you were done pretending you didn’t feel like you were suffocating under the weight of his words.

You could hear him from the other room, pacing in frustration. “I don’t know why it takes you so long to get ready. Nabi never took this long. It’s just a dinner. Seriously, we’re gonna be late.”

His voice floated through the open door, and even though you tried to focus on your outfit, trying to keep calm, the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at your reflection, trying to control the emotions rising in your chest, but they refused to be contained any longer.

With a sharp inhale, you turned around and walked toward the living room, your heart beating loudly in your chest. Hyunjin didn’t see you at first, his back turned as he stared at his phone. But you didn’t need to be subtle anymore. This needed to be said, once and for all.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Your voice was low, almost too calm. It felt unnatural, like you were forcing the words to come out.

Hyunjin turned around, surprise flashing across his face. He hadn’t expected you to confront him. He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could say anything.

"Every time, Hyunjin. Every time we argue, you bring up Nabi. And I get it. You two are close. I'm fine with that. But what am I supposed to do with the way you talk about her as if she were a gold standard?" Your voice was trembling now, despite your attempts to keep it firm.

He grimaced, obviously not understanding where you were coming from. "What are you talking about? I'm just frustrated by how long you take. That’s all. I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't mean to?" You scoffed and shook your head. "Hyunjin, how many times? How many times have you compared me to her without even thinking about it? Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”

He looked taken aback now, guilt creeping into his expression. He took a step toward you, but you held your ground. You couldn’t let him think it was just a misunderstanding anymore.

“You keep comparing me to Nabi. And I’m just supposed to sit here, pretend it’s fine, like I’m not constantly feeling like I’m falling short? Like I’m not constantly second best?” Your voice cracked, and you couldn’t hold back the emotion that spilled out. “You can’t even admit it, can you? That maybe… maybe you still have feelings for her. That maybe you’re just holding onto me because it’s easier than letting go. Because you still have her in your heart.”

The silence that followed was overwhelming. Hyunjin stood still, frozen. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came. There was a strong sense of guilt between you. You could see it on his face, his eyes wide, as if everything you said had suddenly broken through a barrier he hadn't even knew existed.

"Well?" you urged, barely maintaining your composure. "If you still have feelings for Nabi, go back to her. If you still miss her, I won't stand in your way. But I'm not going to keep pretending that this us is enough for you when it's obvious that it isn't."

Hyunjin flinched like you’d slapped him, his expression full of regret and confusion. “No, I—I don’t want that. I never meant to make you feel that way. It’s just... I don’t know why I’ve been doing this.”

“You don’t know?” you repeated bitterly, your voice trembling. “You’ve been doing it for weeks, Hyunjin. And I’ve just been letting it slide, because I thought I could handle it. But I can’t. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you live in some fantasy where I’m just a replacement for someone who was ‘better.’”

His face softened, the apology in his eyes so clear, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hear it. Not right now. Not after everything that had been building up between you two, all the things you’d buried deep down to protect the relationship.

“Don’t follow me,” you said quietly, your throat tight. You turned away from him, grabbing your jacket and bag, the weight of your emotions suddenly too heavy to bear. “I’m going to the dinner. I’m going alone. I need to be alone.”

You didn't wait for him to respond. The words were out now, and you could feel the distance between you two growing with each second. You couldn't pretend anymore. You couldn't keep shrinking into his shadow, wondering where you stood in his heart.

You approached the door, the cold evening air welcoming you as you opened it. You didn't look back. Not this time.

"Don't follow me," you repeated one more time, your voice quiet but assertive. "I need to be alone."

As the door closed behind you, the weight of the unspoken things, the things you had held in for so long, hung in the air, and you walked away, uncertain of what the future held but certain that you couldn’t stay where you were anymore.

After you went, the night was uncomfortably quiet. Hyunjin felt each minute last longer than the last, the silence in the apartment bearing down on him, making him feel smaller and more helpless by the second. He was mindful of your need for space. You'd made it obvious, and he didn't want to do what he usually did: jump in to fix things right away.

He felt that the pain couldn't be soothed by words alone. But damn, he hated the sense of knowing he was to blame, as well as the thought that you were most likely out there alone, bearing all of that weight.

He spent most of the evening sitting on the couch, restless, repeating everything in his mind. The way your voice cracked as you approached him. That look in your eyes as you told him you weren't enough. He felt stupid; how could he have been so blind? How could he have allowed his frustration to manifest itself in such an unfair way toward you?

By the time you returned, it was obvious that the night hadn't been kind to you either. You went through the door, exhaustion on your shoulders, but the moment you stepped inside, Hyunjin couldn't stop looking at you. His stare followed you around the apartment as you removed your jewelry and makeup. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, but he couldn't stop watching you either, his heart heavy with regret.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke. Your voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it. “If you have something to say, Hyunjin, just say it. Stop staring at me like that. You’re making this worse.”

He flinched at the words, the sharpness cutting through the air between you both. His heart tightened, guilt sinking deeper. He knew he needed to say something. He knew he had to make it right, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Finally, he said, his voice raspy with guilt. "I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I had no idea what I was doing. I never thought I was comparing you. It was not like that. "I'm really sorry." You shook your head, letting a bitter laugh escape your lips.

"Hyunjin, how did you not know?" How did you not realize you were making me feel like I was second best? That every tiny remark was about her? You turned to face him, eyes piercing and raw. "Did you still think of her? Do you still want her? Because that could be everything you've been looking for, and I've only been a placeholder."

His eyes widened at the accusation. “No. No, that’s not it,” he said, rushing to explain. “I—I never wanted her back. I’m not in love with her anymore. I love you. I love you so much, and I swear I never meant for any of that to make you feel less than what you are to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I regret it. Please, just—please let me show you how much I love you.”

Your heart twisted at his words, but you couldn't suppress the anger and hurt that still lingered. “Then why did you keep comparing me to her, Hyunjin? Why does she even come up in every fight we have?”

He took a step forward, his voice desperate now. "I'm not even sure why it came out like that. I don't want to be the one to hurt you, and I know I've made mistakes, but I promise you that I love you. I'll do whatever to get you to forgive me. I don't care how long it takes. Please don't leave me thinking I've lost you because of my stupid mistakes."

You caught his eyes, looking for anything that would make you believe this was worth fighting for. His eyes were filled with despair and anxiety. Fear of losing you because, at that moment, he recognized how close he was to doing so.

But even with all the pain you felt, you could see that he was genuine. He wasn’t making excuses, wasn’t deflecting or gaslighting you. He was laying himself bare before you, acknowledging the hurt he’d caused, the mistakes he had made.

You took a deep breath, letting the tension of the argument slowly drain from your body. It wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to be fixed in one conversation. But maybe just maybe there was hope.

“I’m not going to lie and say everything is fine right now,” you said quietly, your voice raw, “But I’m willing to try, Hyunjin. I need time to process all of this, but… I can’t do this if you keep making me feel like I’m competing with her.”

He nodded, his expression sincere. “I won’t. I promise. I’ll never compare you to her again. You’re the one I love. You. And I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise.”

You looked at him for a long moment, the weight of the argument still lingering, but slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. You didn’t know what the future held for the two of you, but you were willing to let him show you that he could learn from this. That he could really see you.

“Just… be better,” you whispered, the words thick with emotion. “For both of us.”

Hyunjin nodded quickly, relieved, but the air between you stayed fragile. He knew he had to prove himself to you, and he was determined to do whatever it took to make sure you never felt this way again. "I will. I swear that I will do better. I just...” “I just want you to be happy, and I'll fight for that," he replied, his voice thick with sincerity.

You didn't say anything else right away, instead letting the silence fill the gap between you. You both knew it wasn't over just yet, but it was a start. A step toward repairing what had been broken, an opportunity to find your way back together. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it was at least a little less heavy than before.

You took a deep breath and finally let yourself relax for the first time that night, the exhaustion from the argument slowly sinking in. It was going to take time, but you hoped just hoped that this time, things would be different.

//

masterlist.

[dollracha]

𐙚 just friends ⋆ l.f x reader

pairing: fwb! lee felix x gender neutral! reader genre: angst, smau, smut warnings: friends with benefits ⋆ no happy ending ⋆ swearing ⋆ special guests: bang chan & lee know ⋆ chan is called chris ⋆ vaguely written sex ⋆ riding (mentioned) ⋆ oral sex (male & gn recieving) ⋆ moody / mean felix ⋆ felix has an ex ⋆ felix is an asshole ⋆ short scenes ⋆ self gaslighting wc: 2.3k synopsis: becoming friends with benefits with felix wasn't a bad idea. that's what you convinced yourself when it started. nothing would change. (that was a lie.) request: hii is your request slot still open? if its not feel free to ignore my request. Soo Im thinking about fwb angst yk? Like maybe Seungmin or Felix. I would rly rly appreciate it if u did the request, have a nice day!! author's note: i wouldn’t call this full on smut but i did write some less descriptive sex scenes. the focus is more on the angst. also felix is mean. i said that once but i'm gonna say it again. (ps. there's no redemption arc pt. 2 because i actually enjoy the suffering of this.)

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

you always thought that most friends with benefits situations would be secret; that you’d sneak around behind your friend’s backs, careless yet careful to make sure they never found out. lee felix proved you wrong.

you’re out at the bar with your friends, he’s got his arm around you. after a few drinks, he’s suggesting you come home with him. or you’re at home on a saturday morning and he asks you to come grocery shopping with him, just for the company. whenever you’re out with your friends, it’s more likely than not that felix is at your side.

all of your friends know about your situation with felix. you used to be embarrassed, but that washed away quickly. you don’t feel anything about it, or at least you try not to. 

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“are you two together or something?” chris asks, his face twisted with confusion. it’s a reasonable question. felix has you pulled into his lap. he’s been fiddling with the pendant on your necklace for a few minutes. the two of you have been receiving looks from your friends, entirely noticed by you while felix remains unaware. 

“no?” he drops your pendant, and looks at chris like he’s an idiot for insinuating it. “nobody has a problem when lee know hyung grabs your ass. but suddenly because i’m holding y/n everyone’s got a problem?”

“what?” minho doesn’t move as he glares at felix. ‘the audacity of this kid…’ 

“no one’s got a problem.” chris intervenes between them before it has the chance to escalate. “it was just a question, mate.” 

felix practically shoves you off his lap to stand. you stumble as you try not to fall. “they’re obviously not my fucking partner.” he spits, and heads straight for the door. it stings. you know your dynamic, it’s nothing romantic. you’re just best friends who can’t keep their hands off each other. that doesn’t stop the hurt.

you look between your friends, and felix, and back again. “i’m gonna go make sure he’s okay.” chris shakes his head, but doesn’t say a word nor stop you.

you catch up to felix just before before the elevator door shuts. “felix,” he doesn’t spare you a glance. “wha—” he interrupts you. “—it’s bullshit. they’re all cozy with each other. no problem. that’s fine. but when it comes to me there’s a bunch of questions and shit?” he turns to you finally, posing the question and finally remembering to hit the button for the first floor.

“it was one question, felix.” you try to calm him down, it probably won’t work. he’s been very sensitive to the topic of relationships as of recent. “i don’t think chris is necessarily wrong for asking, and–”

“so you think he has the right to be in my business?” 

“no. that’s not what i said.”

“then what is it?”

“you were a little rough. chris wasn’t rude. you took an unwarranted shot at minho. they’re our friends.” 

“you’re my friend too and you don’t pull that shit.” anyone else would think he was brushing off your point, but you know he’s getting it. he’s reaching out to pull you close, and then the elevator door opens. he walks out first, and spares a glance behind him. 

“come home with me?” he asks, and you nod. 

“let’s go.”

  ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

he’s not always moody, but the 'what are we?' talk always manages to put him in a mood. most of the time, you two are just friends, who fuck each other on the side. nothing more. 

that’s how it started. felix was a few weeks free from a bad breakup. he was pent up, needed to relieve the stress, anger and sadness bottled up inside of him. and there you were, sitting on his couch like a godsend. it started slow. he pulls you into his arms like he has many times before. friends, cuddling together. until it’s not. his hand rests on your knee, it slowly makes its way up your thighs. you only realize how hot his touch makes you feel when his fingers sneak under the hem of your shorts.

“can i?” he asks, his lips brushing against your ear. 

a part of you (that, maybe, you should have listened to) tells you to say no. but you don’t. you nod your head, and for good measure, you say “yes.”

felix decides to try his luck further, his other hand grips your chin, and forces you to look at him. there’s a hunger in his eyes, like he’s ready to devour you whole given the chance. “can i kiss you?” he practically is, his lips brush against yours as he speaks. 

you knew it wouldn’t mean anything. you always took felix as a romantic. the fact that he was so willing to touch you with no ado made everything clear: this was a one time hookup. were you using him, in his emotionally fragile, pent up state? was he using you? you weren’t sure. 

“yes,” it’s another stupid decision, but it doesn’t feel quite wrong when his lips are against yours. when he kisses you with such need, such urgency. you lose all thoughts of moral, of rationale. all that matters is felix.

a few minutes of eager kissing is all he can stand. he slips his shirt off, and pushes up the hem of yours then hesitates. “can i?” again, you should have said no. you don’t.

“please,”

it’s a blur after that. he takes your shirt off. then it’s your shorts, your underwear. he makes you cum on his mouth. he’s reveling in the way you grip his hair, the way you moan his name like it’s the only one that you know. it makes him feel wanted, needed. like for once, in the past few months, he’s doing something right.

he’s got you itching to return the favor, to feel the weight of him on your tongue, taste him and feel as he hits the back of your throat. felix gets impatient. he grips your hair and fucks into your mouth. his cock hits the back of your throat and you tear up. he’s quick to soothe your tears, “i caused them, ‘s only right.” he says.

as he cums, he holds you in place. he looks up at the ceiling, groaning as you take his load. it’s not your name he moans. it’s his ex’s. it gets caught in his throat like a strangled sob–refusing to come out, yet refusing to stay inside. you both pretend it didn’t happen.

for now, it’s all he wants. you continue with your movie night as if nothing happened. 

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

it’s almost a routine now. you hook up at least twice a week. he’s always the one to invite you over. sometimes it’s a relief. you’re stressed about something going on in your life and he’s a perfect distraction. other times, he’s the one making your life harder. he’s begging you to come over late, and your problem? you can’t say no. you have the freedom to. you know he’d pout for a second, before telling you to sleep well and you’ll hang out later. 

and when you do come over, which it’s unlikely that you won’t succumb to his request, he’s on you immediately. he doesn’t waste time stripping you, taking you to the bed when he’s patient, and the couch when he can’t wait another moment to have you. 

one thing that felix doesn’t do, is mark you. he’ll kiss you with vigor. he’ll suck at your skin, bite at your chest, but it’s all done with just enough gentleness that your skin remains unmarked. you know, you check in the mirror like you’ll wake up one morning and discover his love lasts on your skin. it’s the disconnect between love and lust. if he loved you, maybe he’d claim you as such. he’d mark your skin with red and purple hickeys. he doesn’t love you. you know that.

you don’t love him as anything more than a friend. you should stop dreaming about things reserved for lovers when you’re just friends.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

sometimes, there’s a domestic bliss that settles between the two of you. It really has you thinking that you could be his. you’ll be in his kitchen, his hands are wrapped around your waist as you cook a quick, late dinner. his head rests on your shoulder and he sways you to the music you put on. 

or you’re cuddling in his bed. he’s the big spoon and you’re the little spoon. he has a pillow propped over his arm, his other hand draped over your waist. you’re talking about everything and nothing, all at once. the weather. his childhood. your first pet. the weirdness of sourdough starter. 

you know that the only love between the two of you is the kind friends share. 

screw the kisses that are so sweet they make you think he’s in love with you. screw the way he moans your name now as he cums. the way he looks up at you as you ride him, something so hungry, so insatiable in his big doe eyes. screw way he holds you as you come down from your high, his hands stable and firm on your shaking hips. it keeps you from floating off into a realm, a universe where lee felix could actually love you like the romantic you’ve seen him be for everyone else he’s had in his bed. there’s no way any of it could be love. at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. if he hadn’t made it abundantly clear to everyone you know that you’re ‘just friends’, you might have mistaken the lust in his eyes for love. every lie becomes true once you repeat it enough. every hope, every desire gets crushed once met with the cruel fist of reality one too many times.

do you punish yourself with the facade that he loves you, or the facade that he doesn’t? either way, you can’t resist him. you can’t say no. he needs you. or is it you that needs him? who gets hurt when nothing was ever supposed to be at stake? if you’re an addict, lee felix is your drug, and you’ve not yet seen the consequences of taking too much.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

six months fly by quickly. six months of being friends with benefits with felix. to the date. it’s a normal day, though you don’t see him. you don’t talk to him. you haven’t talked to him since yesterday afternoon. 

the only warning when glass breaks, is the fall. felix’s absence is the fall. the ‘ping!’ of a text message is the impact on the ground, the shatter into a million pieces.

you should have known better than to think it was going to last. really, what did you expect? felix to confess his love to you, rose petals on the bed and candlelight? every good thing comes to an end. whatever you had with felix was never an exception.

it’s not like you loved him, though. like you had that kind of fantasy. it just felt like a breach of your friendship for him to run back to his ex, and not say a word.

you can’t help the anger that takes over. felix was seeing his ex again? after seven months of being apart. he’s running back into those arms. it disgusts you, so much so that you feel your stomach churn. it makes you want to throw up.

you're crying and you don't even know why. there was nothing going on between you two. everything in the past few months meant nothing. right?

wrong. it was something. you couldn't quite explain it, but it was worth far more than going back to a shitty ex.

usually, when felix causes your tears, he's there to wipe them away. they're because of everything he's doing right. this time, it's all wrong; he's not here to dry them up either.

you know chris wouldn’t lie to you. you also know felix wouldn’t keep that from you.

or would he?

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

[memorabxlia]

Christmas With You ━ 필릭스

genre: fluff summary: You’ve always felt distant from Christmas, its joy and magic something you never experienced growing up in a home where the holiday was just another day. But this year, Felix, your best friend, changes everything. warnings: flashbacks, mentions family struggles, mentions of loneliness, insecurity, mentions food, heavy mentions of christmas (definitely forgot something) pairing: bff!felix x fem!reader wc: 3.9k a/n: DAY 7!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

When you were seven, Christmas was just another day. You remember the gray, overcast sky pressing down on the tiny apartment, the faint chill that seeped through the cracks in the windows. The radiator clanked and hissed in protest, but it never quite managed to warm the place. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by the quiet hum of a world that seemed to have forgotten it was supposed to be special.

In your lap was a hand-me-down picture book, its pages soft and worn at the edges, the colors faded but still bright enough to draw you in. The story was simple: a little girl waking up on Christmas morning to find a puppy under her tree. The illustration on that page had stopped you in your tracks. The tree was enormous, decked out in shimmering ornaments and strings of golden lights. The girl’s face glowed with uncontainable joy, her hands pressed to her cheeks as the puppy wagged its tiny tail, a red bow tied around its neck.

You’d stared at that picture for what felt like hours, running your fingers over the textured page. The little girl looked so happy, so full of wonder, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be her. To wake up and see something magical waiting just for you. To have a tree glowing in the corner of the room, the smell of pine needles mixing with the warmth of a cozy house. You tried to imagine the weight of a gift in your hands, the rustle of wrapping paper, the sound of laughter echoing through the halls.

But there was no tree in your living room. No gifts. No smell of pine or twinkling lights. Just the faint sizzle of something cooking in the kitchen and the soft sound of your mother’s voice humming a tune you didn’t recognize.

Clutching the book to your chest, you’d tiptoed out of your room, the floor cold beneath your bare feet. The kitchen was dim, lit only by the pale morning light filtering through the window. Your mom stood by the stove, her back to you, a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. The air smelled of eggs and potatoes, a breakfast she made often, but today it felt heavier somehow, as if the ordinary weight of the day had settled on her shoulders.

“Mom,” you said quietly, your voice almost swallowed by the steady crackle of oil in the pan.

She glanced over her shoulder, her face softening for a moment when she saw you, but the tiredness in her eyes never fully disappeared. “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, turning back to the stove.

You hesitated, gripping the edges of the book tighter. “Why don’t we have a Christmas tree?”

Your mom froze for a moment, the spatula hovering mid-air. She didn’t turn around right away, and when she did, her expression was unreadable—somewhere between sadness and frustration. “Trees cost money, sweetheart,” she said finally, her voice measured but firm. “We don’t have money for things like that.”

“But the book says—”

“The book’s not real,” she interrupted, her tone sharper now. Her gaze flicked to the picture book pressed against your chest, her lips tightening for just a moment. “Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it impossible to say anything else. The book felt heavier in your hands as you shuffled to the table, the image of the little girl and her glowing tree still vivid in your mind. You ate in silence, the words you wanted to say trapped behind the growing ache in your chest. All day long, that ache stayed with you, a quiet, persistent reminder that some dreams were too big for a family like yours.

You sit on the couch, fingers curled around a mug of tea that’s long since gone cold. The faint bitterness of the brew lingers on your tongue, but you don’t bother to get up and make a fresh one. The December chill seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, creeping in like an uninvited guest, though you barely notice it anymore. The space heater hums from its spot in the corner, struggling valiantly against the cold, but its warmth never quite reaches where you are.

Outside, the sounds of the season filter through the cracked window—a child’s shriek of laughter, the crunch of footsteps on snow, and, faintly, the bright jingle of bells. Somewhere out there, the world is alive with the holiday spirit, but inside, your apartment feels quieter, lonelier.

Your gaze drifts to the coffee table, empty except for a few scattered papers. You let yourself imagine it for a moment, transformed by the kind of festive cheer you’ve only ever seen in other people’s homes. Brightly wrapped gifts stacked neatly in the center. A pair of steaming mugs of hot cocoa, topped with whipped cream and tiny marshmallows. Maybe even a plate of cookies dusted with powdered sugar, the kind that looks too perfect to eat. The picture in your mind is vivid but fleeting, vanishing the moment you try to hold onto it.

“Why do you hate Christmas?”

The question jolts you, pulling you back to the present. You blink, turning toward the doorway, where Felix stands with a shopping bag slung casually over one shoulder.

His coat is dusted with snowflakes, and his scarf is crooked, like he’d hurried to wrap it on his way in. His dark hair is damp where the snow has melted, tiny droplets clinging to the strands. But it’s his grin—wide and mischievous, as though he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t—that draws your attention.

“I don’t hate Christmas,” you say automatically, though the words sound hollow even to you.

Felix raises an eyebrow, stepping further into the room. “Then why are you sitting here like Scrooge before the ghosts showed up?”

You try to deflect with a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not—”

But Felix doesn’t let you finish. He’s already crossing the room, his boots thudding softly against the floor. With a dramatic flourish, he dumps the shopping bag onto the coffee table, the impact rattling the few papers you’d left there.

“Ta-da!” he announces, gesturing to the bag as though it’s a treasure chest.

You glance inside, confused, and immediately spot rolls of wrapping paper sticking out of the top. Felix reaches in, pulling out one item after another—a bundle of twinkling string lights, a box of cheap ornaments, and, finally, a small fake tree still wrapped in plastic.

“What is this?” you ask, your brow furrowing.

“This,” Felix declares, his grin widening, “is Christmas.” He pauses for effect, then adds, “Or at least it will be once we’re done with it.”

You stare at the pile, unsure what to say. The sight of it stirs something unfamiliar in your chest—something that feels equal parts hope and dread.

“Felix, I don’t think—”

“Come on,” he interrupts, his tone shifting from playful to earnest. He leans forward slightly, resting his hands on the back of the couch as he looks at you. “Just trust me, okay? Let’s make some magic.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you consider refusing. The sharp pang of memory rises unbidden, halting you mid-reach when your hand instinctively moves toward the decorations.

Felix notices your hesitation. His grin softens into something gentler, his dark eyes studying you with a mix of patience and curiosity. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on? You’ve been weird about this all week.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, but Felix doesn’t let it drop.

“Don’t give me that,” he says, moving to sit on the arm of the couch. His tone isn’t accusing, just concerned. “You’ve been avoiding every single Christmas thing. Decorations, music, even that market in the square. I thought you’d love that stuff.”

You don’t answer right away, your fingers twisting together in your lap. The truth feels too big to explain in a few words, too tangled in years of silence to bring out now.

“I just…” You trail off, unsure how to finish.

Felix tilts his head, waiting. When it’s clear you’re not going to elaborate, he gestures toward the decorations. “Look, I know this kind of stuff can feel a little cheesy. But I promise, it’s fun. You just have to give it a chance.”

“It’s not that,” you say, shaking your head.

“Then what?” Felix presses gently.

You glance at him, and something about the way he’s looking at you—open, expectant, without a hint of judgment—makes the words slip out before you can stop them. “We never celebrated Christmas when I was a kid,” you admit quietly. “We couldn’t afford it.”

Felix blinks, his expression flickering with surprise, but he recovers quickly. “Oh,” he says softly.

You expect him to look away, maybe to fumble for the right thing to say, but Felix just nods, as though you’ve handed him a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his grin returning, “there’s a first time for everything.”

You let out a short laugh, though it’s more out of disbelief than amusement. “Felix—”

“Nope.” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, standing up and grabbing the bundle of lights. “We’re doing this. Together. And you’re going to love it. End of discussion.”

He starts untangling the lights, his movements quick and sure, like he’s afraid you’ll try to argue again if he pauses. You watch him for a moment, torn between frustration and something warmer, something softer.

“Why do you care so much about this?” you ask finally.

Felix glances up, his smile softening into something more serious. “Because I care about you,” he says simply. “And everyone deserves to have at least one good Christmas.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then, slowly, you reach for the box of ornaments, the sharp pang in your chest fading just a little.

“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s make some magic.”

Felix’s grin returns, brighter than ever, and in that moment, you think maybe he’s right. Maybe this could be the start of something new.

Felix doesn’t wait for your response. He picks up the strand of lights and begins untangling them with exaggerated determination, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. You watch him for a moment, unsure whether to feel annoyed or grateful for his relentless enthusiasm.

“Felix,” you say, but he cuts you off without looking up.

“I’m serious,” he says, holding up the lights like a trophy when he manages to free one end. “You might think you’re fine without all this stuff, but I think you deserve more than fine. I think you deserve magic.”

His words hang in the air, and you find yourself staring at him, unsure how to respond. Felix always has a way of saying things that make you feel like you’re standing in the sunlight after spending years in the shadows. It’s disarming, and a little terrifying.

“Magic’s overrated,” you say, trying to brush it off.

Felix finally looks at you, his dark eyes steady and unyielding. “Not when you’ve never had it.”

The room falls silent except for the faint hum of the space heater. You want to argue, to tell him he doesn’t understand, but the way he’s looking at you—earnest, determined, and a little bit sad—makes the words catch in your throat.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit quietly.

Felix’s expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good thing I do,” he says, scooting closer until his shoulder brushes against yours. “And lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”

He hands you the untangled strand of lights, and you take them reluctantly, the plastic wire cool against your fingers.

“Okay,” he says, leaning back to survey the pile of decorations. “Step one: lights. Step two: ornaments. Step three: we sit back and admire our hard work while drinking the best hot cocoa you’ve ever had in your life.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even you. “That’s a pretty ambitious plan.”

Felix grins. “What can I say? I’m a man of vision.”

As the two of you get to work, Felix keeps up a steady stream of chatter, filling the quiet room with his voice. He tells you about the Christmases he had growing up—the smell of his mom’s gingerbread cookies, the way his dad used to insist on stringing popcorn garlands for the tree, even though the dog always tried to eat them. He talks about the time his sister accidentally broke the star for the tree and how they ended up making one out of construction paper and glitter.

You listen, your hands moving slowly as you wrap the lights around the small tree. His stories are filled with so much warmth and laughter that it feels like stepping into a world you’ve only ever seen from the outside.

“Your family sounds nice,” you say quietly when he pauses.

“They’re loud,” Felix says with a laugh. “But yeah, they’re great.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for the air to feel heavy again, but Felix doesn’t let it linger.

“Hey, it’s not too late, you know,” he says, adjusting a particularly stubborn branch on the tree.

“Not too late for what?”

“For you to have those kinds of memories,” Felix says, glancing at you. “You might not have had them as a kid, but who says you can’t start now?”

You don’t know how to answer, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak.

Felix leans over, nudging your shoulder with his own. “That’s what we’re doing here,” he says, his voice lighter now. “We’re making memories. The good kind. The kind you’ll want to tell someone about someday.”

You glance at the tree, the lights casting a soft glow across the plastic branches. It still doesn’t feel real—not quite—but there’s a warmth creeping into the edges of your chest, soft and unfamiliar.

“Thanks, Felix,” you say quietly, the words feeling small but important.

He grins at you, wide and bright, and for the first time, you think maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not too late after all.

Felix ropes you into untangling the lights, which, as it turns out, is less of a task and more of a battle. The strand of lights is an impossible tangle of wires and bulbs, and every time you think you’ve made progress, you realize another knot has formed somewhere else.

“Why do they even come like this?” you mutter, pulling at a stubborn section of the strand.

Felix, meanwhile, is making things worse. Instead of focusing, he’s trying to twirl the lights like a lasso, and at some point, his scarf becomes part of the chaos.

“How did you even—” you start, staring at the mess he’s created.

Felix cuts you off with a sheepish grin, holding up the knotted scarf like it’s a badge of honor. “Magic, obviously,” he says, as if that explains everything. He yanks the scarf free with a dramatic flourish, sending a few bulbs swinging wildly in the process.

You shake your head, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes. The sound is lighter than you expected, like it’s been waiting for an excuse to come out.

Felix looks at you, his grin widening. “See?” he says, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. “You’re already having fun.”

“Barely,” you tease, though you can’t deny that your heart feels a little less heavy.

It takes another twenty minutes to fully untangle the lights, and by the time you’re done, your fingers are sore, and Felix is covered in glitter from a rogue ornament that apparently exploded somewhere in the pile of decorations.

“Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies,” you say, trying to stifle a laugh as you point out the specks shimmering in his hair.

Felix gasps, pretending to look offended. “Excuse me, this is my festive sparkle.”

“Your ‘festive sparkle’ is everywhere,” you point out, brushing some off his sleeve.

“Exactly,” Felix says, striking a pose. “The holidays are all about spreading joy—and glitter.”

By the time the tree is up, you’re both knee-deep in a sea of decorations. Felix has made it his personal mission to fluff every single branch of the tiny plastic tree, despite your protests that it’s fine as it is.

“Fluffing is crucial,” Felix says, adjusting a particularly stubborn branch. “It’s what separates an okay tree from a great tree.”

“It’s what separates a sane person from you,” you reply, though there’s no real heat in your voice.

Felix grins, unfazed. “You’ll thank me later.”

When the tree is finally deemed acceptable by Felix’s absurdly high standards, you start hanging ornaments. The box Felix brought is a mismatched collection of baubles, figurines, and homemade crafts. There’s a reindeer with googly eyes, a snowman with only half a carrot nose, and a glittery angel that looks like it’s been through a war.

“These are…” you hesitate, searching for the right word.

“Beautiful,” Felix supplies, handing you a chipped ornament shaped like a penguin.

“I was going to say ‘chaotic,’” you admit, placing the penguin on a low branch.

“Same thing,” Felix says with a shrug.

Despite the haphazard nature of the ornaments, the tree begins to take on a certain charm. Each decoration tells a story, and Felix is more than happy to share them all. He tells you about the angel, which his mom made when she was in high school, and the reindeer, which his sister gave him as a joke one year.

“Do you still talk to her?” you ask, curious.

Felix nods. “Every week. She’s the one who sent me the cookies I brought over last time.”

“The ones you claimed you baked?”

Felix flashes a guilty grin. “I didn’t say I baked them. I just… didn’t correct you when you assumed.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” Felix says, hanging an ornament shaped like a candy cane.

When it’s time to put the star on top, Felix insists on doing it himself.

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyeing the tree, which is barely taller than he is.

“Positive,” Felix says, holding up the star with a triumphant flourish.

You watch as he stretches on tiptoe, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. The star wobbles precariously in his hands, and you feel your heart jump as it tilts dangerously to one side.

“Careful,” you warn, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Relax,” Felix says, his grin unwavering. “I’ve got this.”

He doesn’t. The star slips from his fingers, and you barely manage to catch it before it hits the floor.

Felix bursts out laughing, doubling over as he clutches his stomach. “Okay,” he says between gasps, “maybe I didn’t have it.”

You can’t help but join in, the sound of your laughter filling the small apartment. It’s loud and unguarded, the kind of laugh you haven’t heard from yourself in years.

Once you’ve both calmed down, you hand the star back to him. “Here. Try again.”

Felix takes it with a mock salute. “I won’t let you down.”

This time, he’s more cautious, and the star finally finds its place at the top of the tree. Felix steps back to admire his work, his grin as bright as the lights now twinkling across the branches.

“Perfect,” he declares, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “We make a great team.”

You glance at the tree, its mismatched ornaments and crooked star glowing softly in the dim room. For the first time, the sight of it doesn’t feel foreign or out of reach. It feels… good.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “We do.”

Once the star is securely in place, Felix steps back, hands on his hips, admiring the tree like an artist surveying their masterpiece. The room feels transformed, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm hue across the walls. The mismatched ornaments sparkle faintly, each one holding a story Felix had happily shared. It’s far from perfect, but that’s what makes it special.

Felix turns to you with a grin. “Now, we celebrate properly—with the best hot cocoa you’ve ever had.”

“Big words,” you tease, following him into the kitchen.

“Trust me,” Felix says, already digging through your cupboards for supplies. “This is one of my specialties.”

You watch as he works, tossing marshmallows into mugs like he’s auditioning for a cooking show. He heats the milk with practiced ease, mixing in cocoa powder, sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. The smell wafts through the tiny kitchen, rich and sweet, and you can’t help but lean against the counter, taking it in.

Felix notices and winks. “See? You’re already impressed.”

“I’ll reserve judgment until I taste it,” you say, though your tone is lighter than before.

When the cocoa is ready, Felix hands you a mug piled high with whipped cream and a sprinkling of chocolate shavings. He takes his own mug and leads you back to the living room, where the tree glows softly in the corner.

You sit on the couch, the warmth of the mug seeping into your hands, and Felix plops down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the only sound the faint hum of the space heater and the occasional crackle of the tree lights.

“So,” Felix says finally, turning to look at you. “Best hot cocoa ever, or what?”

You take a sip, letting the rich sweetness melt on your tongue, and nod reluctantly. “Okay, it’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Felix gasps in mock offense. “This is an experience, thank you very much.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. It’s amazing. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Felix says, grinning.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, your gaze drifting back to the tree. The glow of the lights makes the room feel warmer, cozier, and for the first time in a long time, the apartment doesn’t seem quite so empty.

“Thanks, Felix,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them.

Felix glances at you, his grin fading into something softer. “For what?”

“For… this.” You gesture toward the tree, the lights, the mugs in your hands. “For making today bearable. No, more than that. For making it good.”

Felix’s expression softens even further, and he leans back against the couch, bumping your shoulder lightly with his. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “This is what friends do.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Still. It means a lot.”

Felix doesn’t say anything for a moment, just sips his cocoa and looks at the tree. Then he turns to you, his smile widening again. “Well, get used to it,” he says. “This is only the beginning.”

You raise an eyebrow. “The beginning of what?”

“The beginning of me dragging you into all the holiday traditions you missed out on,” Felix says, his tone teasing but his eyes full of warmth. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but there’s a part of you that believes him. The part that’s starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, this season doesn’t have to be something you avoid.

For now, though, you let yourself enjoy the moment. The warmth of the cocoa, the glow of the tree, and the easy presence of Felix beside you. The weight you’ve carried for so long feels a little lighter, and for the first time, Christmas doesn’t feel quite so far away.

❥﹒ stray kids taglist: @minkilicious @casemoa143 @instabull @amarecerasus

[luckymilkshakerebel]

So Good

Genre: A Story of Love, Anxiety, and Redemption

Cast: hyunjin x female reader

Inspired - hyunjin - so good

---

Hyunjin stood in the center of the school’s crowded hallway, his heart pounding against his ribs like a drum in a marching band. It was the final week of his senior year, and everything about this place—the lockers with chipped paint, the faint smell of floor cleaner, and the echo of hurried footsteps—felt too familiar and suffocating. His anxious thoughts buzzed like static in his brain.

He had spent most of his school years blending into the background, content with being a shadow. But in these past few months, things had started to shift. It was all because of her.

Y/n was the kind of person who radiated light. Her laugh carried across the room, making even the most mundane moments feel alive. Y/n was a storm of energy, unafraid to challenge the world, and Hyunjin couldn’t understand why someone like her had chosen to befriend someone like him. But she had. And that single act had begun to chip away at the fortress of anxiety he had built around himself.

Hyunjin clutched the small envelope in his hand. He had spent weeks drafting the letter inside, agonizing over every word. It wasn’t just a letter; it was his heart, raw and unfiltered, a message to the girl who had taught him how to breathe again.

The plan was simple: slide it into her locker, leave before she arrived, and never speak of it again. But as he approached her locker, the weight of his own fears pressed down on him. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if this ruined everything?

Taking a deep breath, Hyunjin reminded himself of something Lena had once told him during one of their late-night talks. “You have to let go of the what-ifs, Hyunjin. Life is too short to let fear hold you back.”

Before he could overthink, he slipped the envelope into Y/n locker and walked away, his heart racing like he’d just run a marathon.

---

Y/n found the letter after lunch. She recognized Hyunjin’s handwriting immediately—small, neat, and deliberate. Y/n opened it carefully, her eyes scanning the words as her smile grew wider with every sentence.

By the end of the letter, her heart felt like it might burst. Hyunjin, the quiet boy with the soulful eyes and hidden depths, had poured out his feelings in a way that was both poetic and raw. It wasn’t just a confession; it was a promise—a promise to let go of the anxiety that had haunted him for so long and to embrace the life he wanted to live.

Y/n knew she couldn’t let this moment pass. She had seen the potential in Hyunjin from the start, but this letter proved that he was ready to see it in himself.

---

The next day, Y/n found Hyunjin sitting under the oak tree in the school courtyard, his usual hiding spot. Y/n approached him with purpose, holding the letter in her hand.

“You’re braver than you think,” Y/n said, her voice soft but steady.

Hyunjin looked up at her, his cheeks flushed. “You read it?”

“I did,” she replied, sitting down beside him. “And I think it’s beautiful.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind rustled the leaves above, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

“I meant every word,Y/n” Hyunjin finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I know. And I want you to know that I feel the same.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and relief washing over him. He had spent so long doubting himself, convinced that he wasn’t enough. But in that moment, with Lena’s hand in his, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he was.

---

Graduation came and went in a blur. The days of high school slipped through Hyunjin’s fingers like sand, but he didn’t feel the usual pang of regret or fear. Instead, he felt something new: excitement.

With Y/n by his side, he began to embrace the world beyond the walls of their small-town school. Together, they explored the city, tried new foods, and chased sunsets. Lena introduced him to art galleries and live music, and Hyunjin taught her the joy of quiet moments, like reading under a blanket of stars.

But it wasn’t always easy. There were still days when anxiety clawed at Hyunjin’s chest, threatening to pull him under. On those days, Lena would remind him of his strength.

“Your anxiety doesn’t define you,” Y/n would say. “You’re so much more than your fears.”

And slowly but surely, Hyunjin began to believe Y/n.

---

One night, as they sat on the rooftop of an old apartment building, Y/n turned to Hyunjin with a mischievous grin.

“I have an idea, hyunjin” Y/n said.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe,” Y/n teased. “But it’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

The next morning, Y/n dragged him to a dance studio. Hyunjin had always admired Y/n’s dancing from afar, but he had never imagined himself trying it.

“Dancing is freedom,” Y/n explained as they stepped onto the polished wooden floor. “It’s about letting go and just feeling.”

At first, Hyunjin was hesitant. His movements were awkward and stiff, his self-consciousness holding him back. But Y/n was patient, guiding him with gentle encouragement.

“Close your eyes,” she said. “Stop thinking and just move.”

And for the first time in a long time, Hyunjin let go. The music washed over him, and he allowed his body to move without fear of judgment. By the end of the session, he was laughing—really laughing—as he spun Y/n around the room.

---

Months turned into years, and Hyunjin’s life transformed in ways he never thought possible. He and Y/n moved to the city, where they pursued their dreams with unrelenting passion. Hyunjin found his voice through dance, using it as an outlet to express the emotions he had kept bottled up for so long.

Y/n became his biggest supporter, cheering him on at every performance. And in return, Hyunjin became her anchor, reminding her to slow down and appreciate the quiet moments.

Their love was far from perfect, but it was real. They faced their struggles together, learning and growing with each challenge.

---

One evening, as they stood on the balcony of their apartment, watching the city lights twinkle like stars, Hyunjin turned to Y/n.

“I used to think that my anxiety and bad luck would hold me back forever,” he said. “But you showed me that life is so much bigger than my fears.”

Y/n smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “And you’ve shown me that even the quietest people can have the loudest hearts.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, Hyunjin realized that he wasn’t the same person he had been back in high school. He had left behind the shadows of anxiety and misfortune, stepping into a life filled with color, music, and love.

And it was so good.

[paintmepurple]

A gold mine 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

Hey hey! You can call me Lo!

I write fics and fake texts for SKZ. I use the app Social Maker for my fake texts/tweets. It's no longer available on the App Store and yes I'm terrified of what's gonna happen when I get a new phone 😭😭

My requests are OPEN. Please see the guidelines before writing in!

My masterlist of fics is below the cut. Thanks for stopping by my blog!

Mobile Masterlist

Here is the masterlist in web/desktop version

🩷 = fluff, 🖤 = angst, 💚 = crack, 🔞 = contains sexual content, ✖️ = intense subject matter

Fake Texts

chan

encouraging you to spend his money 🩷

he gets jealous when you talk to someone else at a work event 🖤

you're his super hot pottery teacher (with minho) 🩷

you get stolen from 🩷

minho

you're his super hot pottery teacher (with chan) 🩷

hyunjin

you have a weird exotic pet 💚

he doesn't believe you when your pet is sick 🖤

random texts with bf! hyunjin 🩷 💚

jisung

he takes you birdwatching 🩷💚

he doesn’t care about your big promotion | part 2 🖤

felix

he forgets a date 🩷

seungmin

he falls out of love with you 🖤 | part 2 🖤 | alt part 2 💚🖤

he's your last-minute date for a wedding | part 2 🩷 💚

jeongin

pushing him away due to work 🩷

ot8

you're injured but you're being soooo chill about it : hyung line | maknae line 💚

you live in a shitty apartment: chan/lee know/hyunjin 💚 | changbin 🖤 | changbin part 2 🖤🩷

he calls you clingy: hyung line | hyung line part 2 | maknae line | maknae line part 2 🖤

he RUINS your birthday: hyung line | hyung line part 2 | maknae line🖤

YOU call HIM clingy: hyung line | hyung line part 2 | maknae line | maknae line part 2 🖤

you guys have an age gap: hyung line | maknae line 🩷

you're perpetually single and it's driving you insane: hyung line 🩷

he ditches you for his girl best friend: hyung line | maknae line 🖤

Prose Fics

chan

hello, christ? i’m bout to sin again (vampire au, 6.4k) 🔞

sharpest tool (2.9k) 🖤

baby, it's cold outside (no seriously it's crazy out there) (4.1k) 🩷

treatment resistant (4.7k) 🖤✖️

minho

juno (3.3k) 💚🔞

seungmin

to do what i can do (6.1k) 🩷

souvenirs (1.8k) 🩷🖤

[mymoodwriting]

Because You're Mine

Female!Reader x Werewolf!SKZ

Genre: A/B/O

Warning: Anxiety, Panic, Distrust, Insomnia, Suppressants, Numbness, Pheromones, Harassment, Non-Con, Revelations, PTSD, Reconnection, Mentions of Heat

Words: 4.5K

Chapter Ten

(Prev//Next) (@starillusion13 @salfetkablog @youngunknownwitch @loveforred @hydroyaksha @meowmeeps @azazel-nyx @luvyev @stellasays45 @littlebaby-bunbun @bangchansgirlsblog @puppyminnnie @bahablastplz @lemonn015 @blankperiodssn @stellasays45 @kkamismom12 @rxlvvrz @riri53 @stressymessyana @aalexyuuuhm @jutfelixdwae)

Prompt: With omegas completely removed from society, they needed their own communities and institutions to grow. All your life you had lived and gone to school alongside your fellow omegas, and orphaned alphas. You had managed to keep yourself together, but now at the university level, keeping your secret had grown impossible. You had to face your fears and make friends with an alpha eventually, and now was the time.

“I don’t like this…”

You had been locked in your bedroom with Felix, anxiously pacing around the room. You couldn’t hear much of anything going on outside and you weren’t sure if that was good or bad. Felix was taking all this better than you, merely on his phone while lying in bed.

“Maybe we should check things out, make sure Ji-”

“No, no, no.” Felix got up and grabbed your hands. “Y/n, the last thing you want to do is go anywhere near Jisung or the alphas. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“But-”

“The alphas are trained for this, Jisung is in good hands. By staying here we are helping.”

“Trained for this… how does an alpha train to handle an omega in heat… that’s just ridiculous…”

“I mean, we’ll see for ourselves some day.”

“… right…”

Despite Felix’s words of assurance, you couldn’t shake the nerves. You asked him multiple times if he could hear anything, which he said he couldn’t and would rather not try. You didn’t sleep all night, and Felix only dozed off a bit, trying to make sure you didn’t do anything rash. It wasn’t until early morning that you heard someone outside the door, Hyunjin and Jeongin checking in.

“I thought you would have fallen asleep?” Hyunjin questioned.

“I tried.” Felix mumbled. “But you know…”

“Is Jisung okay!?” You jumped to your feet. “Can I see him!? Where is he!?”

“Easy, easy.” Jeongin chuckled. “Jisung is fine, and he’s been moved to an observation room for the time being. You won’t be able to see him for a while.”

“Observation room? What’s that? Why can’t-”

“It’s temporary. Jisung’s in a delicate headspace and needs to be closely monitored, which means no guests. Once he’s better he’ll be back and then you can ask him questions. Okay. I promise he’s fine.”

“When will he be back?”

“It takes a few days, and the timing depends on every omega.”

“… okay…”

Even though you weren’t satisfied with the answers given to you, there wasn’t much else you could do. You had no idea where Jisung was, or what you could do for him. Of course you asked about him everyday, and the answer was always the same. Jisung was fine and doing well, he would return soon. You didn’t want to be an anxious mess, but you hadn’t been away from Jisung in so long. You couldn’t help but worry about him despite what everyone told you. Not to mention this was making it difficult to focus in any of your classes. Instead you started to realize other omegas were absent from class too, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were in the same predicament as Jisung.

“How can you be so calm?”

“I… well I trust the alphas not to hurt Jisung.” Felix admitted. “And they’re calm, so I’m calm…”

“Ah, right… your senses aren’t numbed up like me…”

You could be a light sleeper at times, and now was one of those moments. Every little sound at night made you think Jisung was back, but that wasn’t the case. The alphas told you that they’d let you know when he returned, but you were still waiting. Even if you didn’t sleep well, you were getting some sleep. It wasn’t enough to ease the alphas though.

“Y/n, can I talk to you.”

While you were trying to do an assignment Changbin knocked on your door. He stayed out in the hall, but he still wanted to talk. He didn’t look upset, and even if you couldn’t pick up on his pheromones you felt like you were in trouble. That was probably written on your face.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“You’re not in trouble for starters.”

“Oh, then what?”

“I need you to calm down.”

“Huh?”

“I know you’re just worried about Jisung, but your anxiousness is rubbing off on Felix. Not to mention you’re not sleeping well either.”

“… sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s not your fault.”

“I just want to know what’s going on…”

“When Jisung gets back he can answer all your questions.”

“I know but-”

“You’re gonna make him worry about you, and if you keep this up you’re gonna freak out Felix. You know it’s bad given you’re on suppressants and still affecting him.”

“… oh… right… right… I just…”

“I know the idea isn’t your favorite, but I could help you with my pheromones.”

“No. No, I don’t-”

“Hear me out. I know the last time I did such a thing it wasn’t consensual, but this would be different. You’re on suppressants so to get the desired effect it would take a lot longer than normal, so we can go slow and at your pace.”

“I… I don’t know…”

“You won’t get overwhelmed, but if you don’t want to I am going to need you to at least take sleeping pills. You need rest.”

“Fine… we can try… the pheromones first…”

“Okay.”

You weren’t entirely sure what Changbin had in mind, but he wasn’t going to do anything in your room and mess up your safe space, again. So instead you went to the living room. He turned on the TV and let an old show play, asking you to sit next to him. You had brought your assignment, wanting to work on it, but you only managed a bit before giving up. You sat back on the couch, keeping close to Changbin but not too much. He hadn’t said anything the whole time, creating a calming atmosphere and letting you ease into it. The others were out for the time being, so there wasn’t anything to interrupt.

You focused on the show, getting a bit engrossed in that and unknowingly leaning against Changbin. Even though he had noticed he didn’t draw any attention to it. His intention was for this to be slow and gradual. He carefully moved his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you closer. You were starting to feel a bit tired, leaning against Changbin as you dozed off. Changbin slowly pulled you into his embrace, adjusting his position and letting you rest against his chest. A hand softly pet your head, soothing you and getting you to sleep. This was long overdue for you, and very necessary. 

Come morning you woke up in your own bed, actually feeling well rested. It was surprising, but you also didn’t feel as anxious anymore. Still, you weren’t gonna be completely better until Jisung returned. The wait wasn’t long after that night with Changbin, and you felt such relief when you saw Jisung again. He returned to the dorm early one morning, and you immediately rushed to hug him. You were so happy to have him back, and of course you couldn’t help but berate him with questions about what happened and how he was doing. For everyone’s sake, the alphas let you and Felix catch up with Jisung.

“I’m just fine, I promise.”

“But what happened to you!? The alphas said you were in an observation room.”

“Yeah, I was, they just had to keep an eye on me as my memories came back to me.”

“So you really blacked out?” Felix questioned. “After the whole ordeal?”

“I mean… yeah, it was… intense… and the alphas were very nice.”

“Yeah I bet. Did all six of them-”

“No! No, let’s not talk about that.” You interrupted. “What matters is that you’re back, and you’re not gonna disappear again, are you?”

“There’s no reason for me to. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s not your fault. Something like that is out of your control.”

Things seemed to go back to normal now that Jisung was back, and you were very much at ease. You figured everything would be fine, but what happened with Jisung was only the beginning. One night you were up late doing some reading when you decided to get snacks. The dorm was quiet enough, so you snuck over to the kitchen. There you discovered you weren’t the only one up late, seeing Felix rummaging around the fridge. You chuckled and cautiously approached him, tapping his shoulder.

“You gonna share?”

“Sh! Only with you.”

The two of you giggled and grabbed something to munch on, sitting on the kitchen counter top. You didn’t need to talk, just enjoying the quiet of the night and your snacks. You wanted to get back to your book, but Felix caught you by surprise when he followed you, hugging you from behind. He nuzzled into your neck, tickling you.

“Felix, cut it out.”

“Don’t go, not yet.”

“It’s already late, we shouldn’t be up anyway.”

“But we are.”

You tried to get Felix to let go, but he wouldn’t budge. You figured maybe he was just sleepy and a little delusional so you started moving with him in tow, planning to take him to his bedroom. At one point he stopped and held you in place, whimpering.

“Felix, come on now.”

You tried again to get Felix to release you but his grip only got tighter. You groaned, grabbing at his hands and really forcing him off. You got free, but only for a moment before he pounced on you, pinning you to the ground with his body.

“Don’t be so mean.”

You tried to get Felix off of you and then your hands brushed against his face. You felt this warmth, cupping his cheeks and pressing your palm against his head. He was burning up, but you began to realize this wasn’t just a fever. You immediately began squirming and trying to break free, but Felix wasn’t letting you go.

“Help! Help! Chan! Minho!”

You knew this wasn’t Felix’s fault, but you shouldn’t be anywhere near him in this state. All you could really do was scream for help.

“Changbin! Seungmin! Someone! Help! Hyunjin! Jeongin! Please!”

You didn’t know who it was, but all of a sudden Felix was yanked off of you, another pair of hands pulling you back and getting you to your feet. You heard some scuffling, but didn’t get to see much before you were taken away. Next thing you knew you were in your room, Chan looking you over.

“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“… no… no, is Felix okay?”

“He will be, we’ll look after him.”

“… sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“You did the right thing. Now you stay here, okay?”

“I know… wait, what about-”

Before you could finish your question Hyunjin came in with a sleepy Jisung in tow. You pulled him over, having him lay down in bed.

“You two will be okay, right?” Chan questioned. 

“Yeah…”

“Okay. Stay here, like last time. Someone will check in later.”

“I know.”

Even though you had been through this before, you were still worried. You hadn’t seen what Jisung was like before the alphas took him away, but seeing Felix. He didn’t do anything to you but you could only imagine what would happen down the line. 

“Y/n, take it easy.” Jisung mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Felix is gonna be just fine, he’s in good hands.”

“…”

“I was in his situation before, and now I’m here. You know he’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah… you came back no problem… but what if-”

“No, no, no, no, none of that.” Jisung went to hug you. “Don’t think like that. This is just a normal part of being an omega, it’s okay.”

For a moment you felt at ease, processing Jisung’s words and then something dawned on you. Jisung was right, this was a normal part of being an omega, and given that Jisung had gone through this not so long ago, it meant you were surely next. You didn’t like that idea at all, holding on to Jisung tighter than before.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this…”

“Maybe it’s just Felix’s lingering pheromones, how about a shower? Then we can get some rest.”

“Sure…”

You washed up with Jisung, the shower actually helping. Even if you were worried about your own future right now, you couldn’t get any answers until later. You focused on the present, deciding to try and sleep while everything else went on. You only managed to doze off here and there, getting some rest. Jisung slept through the night, but he would wake if you disturbed him too much. He kept you wrapped up in his arms, not wanting to lose track of you even while he was sleeping. Come morning there was a knock at the door, and you looked over to see Chan and Seungmin peeking in.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Seungmin teased.

“I tried…” You mumbled. “And Felix?”

“He’ll be away for a few days.” Chan said. “He’s just fine.”

“Good… uh… I wanted to ask… uh…”

You felt a bit embarrassed to ask, so Chan gestured to talk elsewhere to let Jisung sleep. You carefully slipped out of bed and headed out to the living room. The other alphas weren’t around, but you were still nervous.

“Did something happen?” Seungmin asked. “You can tell us, we won’t be mad.”

“It’s not that��� I just… Jisung and Felix… am I… gonna… you know…”

“Ah, you’re cute, but no. You shouldn’t be going into heat anytime soon. You’re on suppressants.”

“So as long as I take them, I’ll be fine?”

“Not necessarily.” Chan continued. “The suppressants will certainly delay your first, but it can’t prevent it. Not forever.”

“… is there anything… I can do…?”

“Omegas have heat cycles, it’s a natural thing. It’s gonna happen eventually, but honestly, I don’t think it will be anytime soon.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause you don’t trust us. You don’t feel completely safe around us and the stress of that means your body won’t put you in such a vulnerable state. You’ll get there in your own time.”

“… okay…”

Jisung stayed close while Felix was gone, feeling a greater imbalance in the dorm for the time being. You mostly stuck to your room, wanting to distract yourself until Felix was back. Also to not think about what Chan had told you. While at your desk doing homework you noticed a random scribble on one of your notebooks, seeing a phone number and name, Gunil. You suddenly remembered that when you got back from the party you had written down Gunil’s number before going to wash up. You had completely forgotten about it until now. The thought of texting him crossed your mind, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea given how much time had passed. Still, curiosity won out, so you send him a message.

“Hi… it’s y/n… sorry I didn’t text sooner.”

There wasn’t a response, and you figured he was probably busy with something. As you were about to put your phone down you felt it buzz.

“Hey, nice to hear from you. How you been?”

“Good, and you?”

“Same old stuff. Just working on this paper.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not. I need a break anyway. What are you up to?”

“Just some reading.”

“I’m kinda jealous you just get to learn and not take exams.”

“It has its perks, but also feels pointless to a degree.”

“Touché. You know, I have some free time later today, wanna meet up?”

“Sure.”

You thought things over for a moment, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt to see Gunil in person. Besides, there were some things you wanted to ask, and only he had the answers. Now the problem was going out. You never did that, so obviously the alphas were gonna ask questions when they saw you heading for the door.

“And where are you going?” Jeongin asked, walking over. “Your classes are done for the day.”

“I know. I’m just going to meet up with a friend…”

“A friend? Who?”

“I knew him back in high school and we recently reconnected… he gave me his number at that party…”

“Is he an alpha?”

“… yes…”

“Since when-”

“Let her go.” Minho cut in. “She wouldn’t be going out to meet with some alpha if she didn’t trust them, and she’s not lying either. You can hear her steady heartbeat.”

“Fine. You won’t be out late, right?”

“No, no, I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Good. Call us if you need anything.”

“Okay…”

You agreed to meet up with Gunil outside the library, wanting to be out in the open. When you arrived you saw him sitting on a bench browsing his phone. As you got closer he looked up, seeing you and smiling, getting up to meet you halfway.

“Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“Hi…”

“I’m glad you agreed to meet me. Why don’t we get something to eat and talk, no interruptions this time, right?”

“Yeah.”

There were a lot of places on campus that you hadn’t been to before. You knew of them, but the idea of going and potentially getting mobbed by alphas frightened you too much. Things were different now with the suppressants, and you weren’t alone. Gunil bought some snacks and drinks, the two of you finding a table to sit at.

“You got my favorite…”

“I was hoping that was still the case. I remember when I used to leave them on your desk with a note. I don’t think I ever saw you eat them.”

“Uh… well… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t want me to see?”

“… didn’t know…”

“Huh?”

“I never found any snacks on my desk…”

“Oh…”

“I would have thanked you… and probably told you it wasn’t necessary…”

“I see… I guess I should have kept a better eye on that.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I suppose… you know… after everyone switched classes… I didn’t see much of you anymore…”

“Did you miss me?”

“… I’m not sure I can answer that…”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” Gunil got silent for a moment. “Even though we weren’t in the same class anymore, I still saw you.”

“You did…?”

“Yeah. Out in the halls, always scurrying off and keeping your head down… I could tell something was different about you. Everything and everyone seemed to frighten you, and you avoided alphas as if they were the plague. You seemed stressed, and I didn’t want to add to that, so I waited. Yet you were always sad, so I kept my distance, for your sake.”

You had always wondered what happened to Gunil. You wouldn’t have been able to face him after the incident, but his sudden absence didn’t go unnoticed. All this time you thought he only paid attention to you cause you were in the same class, and now that you weren’t, he didn’t have time for you. It was a long time ago, but knowing the truth now was comforting.

“… thank you… for your kindness… back then… I really do appreciate it…”

“Y/n… I am sorry for what happened to you.”

“… what? Did you…”

“Only recently.” Gunil explained. “I heard about those that got expelled, the names were familiar, and I remembered what they were like back then… so I just put the pieces together… it was my fault… and I understand if you can’t bring yourself to face me after this but… I would still like to keep in contact, if that’s possible.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You took a moment. “I’ve been… healing… slowly getting better… I dorm with some alphas… and they’re all pretty nice… even if they have their secrets…”

“I’m glad to hear that. There was certainly joy and life in your eyes when I saw you at the party, something I hadn’t seen in a long time.”

With the heavier side out in the open, the uncertainty between you two seemed to lessen. You found it easier to talk with him, and just be friends. In a way he helped you look back on your high school days in a more positive light. You had been stuck in one place for so long, and were only now shedding the past and living in the present. You did keep your promise to the others though, excusing yourself before sundown, telling Gunil you’d message him later. He was glad to see you smile, offering you a quick hug before letting you go. When you got back to the dorm you heard a lot of commotion, and a familiar voice.

“Felix!”

You ran to hug Felix tightly, glad to have him back. You didn’t even have to ask as he began to tell you that he was alright.

“It was a nice long vacation, but I’m back now, and I’m perfectly fine.”

“Good.”

“I am sorry about before…”

“I know it wasn’t your fault. It’s just good to have you back.”

You could finally feel at ease with everyone back, knowing there were no more surprises in store. Or at least, no one was gonna spontaneously leave. Although now that you weren’t worried about those two, you could finally sit down with everything else that had happened. You kept texting with Gunil, glad to have a friend, and he helped you see things a bit differently. In reality, he let you see things as they really were. When you were around the dorm you found yourself staring at the alphas. You knew them more than any other alpha. You had seen the good and bad from them, but you knew that at their core they wanted to do good. Jisung and Felix never had any reason to be weary of them and liked them from the start. Perhaps if things had been different you’d feel the same.

You knew more than you should and it changed your view of many things. There were serious consequences for alphas who did not do well, and you didn’t want anyone to suffer in such a way. You wanted to do better, to get better, but you knew that was still a work in progress. As long as you were open to the idea, things should work out. Still, you weren’t quite ready to talk to the alphas, but you still wanted to do good. For the moment you’d just stick to what you did best, knowing you’d get there at your own pace. One day as you were doing some reading you were starting to get frustrated, getting hot. Perhaps you needed a break so you went to take a shower. The cool water felt so refreshing, yet after a moment you realized it wasn’t helping.

“Y/n.”

You jumped a bit when you heard Jisung calling your name, knocking on your door. You didn’t want to see anyone at the moment, so you called out from the shower, saying you were busy. You thought he left but then heard another knock on your bathroom door.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

“I’m fine…”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound-”

“Go away!”

You felt bad for yelling, but you hoped he’d take the message. It had the opposite effect as Jisung entered the bathroom. You screamed when he pulled back the shower curtain, covering yourself. Jisung apologized but still reached over to grab you, pulling you closer and pressing his palm against your head. You shook him off, telling him to leave again, but he didn’t move.

“Y/n… you’re kinda burning up…”

“I’m fine, now get out!”

“You know… you’re likely going into heat…”

“I’m not!”

“The alphas are gonna notice eventually, and you’re gonna get worse.”

“It’s not that, now go!”

Jisung decided to do as you asked this time, leaving you alone, but he put the idea in your head, and now you were starting to panic. You sat down in the tub, hugging your legs to your chest and just telling yourself it wasn’t true. It was probably just some fever or something and you’d be fine. You just needed to get some medicine, but you didn’t feel like moving. You hadn’t felt any better since Jisung called you out, and you were scared if he was right.

“Y/n…” You heard Chan’s voice knocking outside your room. “Are you alright? Jisung-”

“I’m fine! Don’t come in here!”

“I won’t, I promise, but are you-”

“Go away!”

Chan honored your wish, but he wasn’t happy. After talking to you Jisung ran to him, and he could catch your faint scent on him, and he knew what was going on immediately. He knew you wouldn’t just let him in, let him help, but he couldn’t just let you suffer. It wasn’t long before the others realized what was going on, wondering what to do.

“She can’t be alone.” Changbin said. “We need to do something.”

“I know, but this is still a delicate situation.” Chan stated. “We can’t just barge in, even if she’d forgive us in the end. This is an important time for her, we shouldn’t mess it up.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Hyunjin asked. “It’s only gonna get worse the longer she keeps to herself.”

“Which is why she won’t be.”

“She won’t…? Wait, are you suggesting Jisung and Felix help her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nuts?” Seungmin snapped. “Her pheromones are gonna trigger them, then we’re gonna have three omegas in heat.”

“It will help her though.” Minho added. “And that’s the priority here. I think we can handle three omegas. Only one of them would be going through their first.”

“It honestly sounds kinda fun.” Jeongin chuckled. “But are we sure we can deal with this? Y/n’s going through her first, she needs the most care and attention. If we have to worry about Jisung and Felix too, things are gonna get complicated.”

“It will help though…” Jisung mumbled, making his and Felix’s presence known, the pair having been eavesdropping. “Right?”

“She needs to feel safe and be in a good state so she accepts our help.” Chan explained. “If you can help her with that, it would be very good for her.”

“We’ll do it.” Felix confirmed. “We can help.”

♥♥♥♥♥

You wanted the cold water to help you feel better, but it wasn’t. You were scared, having no idea what was supposed to happen. Reading books and being told about it was all just theory, and everyone had a different experience. While lost in your own head you heard knocking, looking up in a panic only to see Jisung and Felix. They knelt down by the tub, Jisung reaching for your hands.

“Hey… you can’t stay like this… the water won’t help.”

“Just leave…”

“We’re not gonna do that.” Felix said. “We’re gonna help you.”

The two helped you get out of the tub, shutting off the water and wrapping you in a towel. They dried you up a bit, but without the water you were starting to feel worse. The heat in your body was spreading, making you anxious. This didn’t feel like a normal fever, and it was hard to deny what this really was.

“You two… shouldn’t be here…”

“We know.” Jisung admitted. “But we can’t just leave you alone. The alphas don’t just want to help unless you’re okay with it.”

“I don’t want them to… help…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Felix wondered. “It’s gonna get worse. They can help, trust me they really do, and-”

“No… no, I’ll be fine…”

“You’re gonna change your mind.”

“I… I won’t…”

[tapiocasaturn404]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Chapter One ࿐ྂ

Word Count: 1,1k

Summary: After a long time of training, Lizzie finally gets the chance to become an Idol.

2019

The practice room was empty except for one figure. The soft hum of fluorescent lights echoed through the space, blending with the muffled beats of a song on loop. Elizabeth Min stood in front of the mirror, sweat dripping from her brow as she perfected the last eight counts of her routine for the third time that evening.

Lizzie's knees blazed with a searing heat, her muscles aching and begging for relief. But she pushed on, determined to ignore the pain. Giving up was not an option, not after seven years of grueling training. She had faced disappointment before, two debut opportunities that slipped through her fingers before they even began. But she refused to let exhaustion triumph now. Her dream was more than just standing on a stage; it was about leaving a lasting impression, proving to herself and the world that all her sacrifices were worth it. She could almost taste the sweet victory waiting for her at the end of this long, winding road.

“Youre still here?”, Lizzie jumped slightly as the trainer's voice cut through the quiet dance studio. She turned to see her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a hint of admiration in her smile. Sweat glistened on Lizzie's forehead as she caught her breath and pushed a strand of her damp, black hair behind her ear. "I'm still working on the new choreography," she replied, trying to sound confident.

The trainer's eyes crinkled in approval as she nodded. "You've got drive, Liz. That's a rare quality in this business." She patted Lizzie on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Make sure you get some rest tonight though, big day ahead of us tomorrow."

Lizzie's eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "Tomorrow?" she repeated, unsure of what was happening. Her stoic expression softened slightly, giving her a small glimmer of hope. "You'll find out soon enough," she replied cryptically, leaving Lizzie with more questions than answers.

_

As the sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting the conference room in a golden hue, Lizzie couldn't shake off the nervousness that fluttered in her chest. She stood at attention, her hands clasped behind her back, trying to appear composed and professional. Across the table sat Bang Chan, the charismatic leader of Stray Kids. His piercing brown gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. The faint sound of managers whispering amongst themselves could be heard beside him, adding to the anticipation in the air. Lizzie took a deep breath, ready to make her pitch and prove herself worthy of being part of this renowned entertainment company.

Lizzie shifted on her feet and tugged at the hem of her blouse. The air around her seemed to lighten as Chan's warm Australian accent reached her ears, cutting through the tense formality of the room."Lizzie, right?"

She nodded, trying to appear composed, but her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, betraying her nerves.

"Yes, it’s nice to meet you," she managed to say with a small smile.

Chan leaned in, his usually sharp gaze softening as he spoke. "Seven years of grueling training...I know how tough that road can be."

Lizzie’s throat tightened. She recognized the empathy in his voice, a recognition of shared struggles. "It’s been… a journey," she replied carefully. "I’ve learned a lot, but it hasn’t been easy."

One of the managers cleared their throat, drawing the attention of the group. Their voice was steady and confident as they spoke, "We've been closely observing Lizzie for some time now. Her work ethic is unmatched, and her versatility in all tasks is remarkable. We firmly believe that she would be a valuable and strong addition to Stray Kids."

Chan's eyebrows drew together, forming a crease of concern on his forehead. "Adding a girl to our all-male group... that's not a typical move," he said, his tone thoughtful but tinged with hesitation. It was clear that he was carefully considering the potential impact of this change on their dynamic.

The manager's words carried weight and importance as they echoed through the room. "It's not a decision we're taking lightly," he said, his voice low and serious. "But Lizzie's skill set, combined with her extensive experience, makes her an invaluable asset. She possesses a unique blend of determination and adaptability that perfectly complements the dynamic of your group." The air in the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the final verdict to be announced.

Chan's eyes flickered with concern as he turned towards Lizzie, his brow furrowing. "How are you feeling about this?" he asked. "Joining an all-boys group won't be easy."

Lizzie's took a deep breath and met his gaze. "Honestly, I didn't even know what the whole deal was until now," she admitted. "I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable or disrupt what you've built here. But if given the chance, I just want to contribute and prove that I belong. I'm willing to work twice as hard."

The air hung heavy with anticipation as Chan's gaze flicked between Lizzie and his paperwork. He took a deep breath, recalling his own years of training and the familiar feeling of doubt that lingers in every idols mind. Lizzie mirrored his stance, her eyes locked on him with unwavering determination.

Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice steady and reassuring. "I know what it takes to chase a dream. If you're willing to put in the work, I'll do everything I can to help you get there."

A smile spread across Lizzie's face, extending a hand towards Chan. "Let's do this," she said confidently.

Chan grasped her hand firmly, a sense of partnership settling between them. "I have faith in you," he replied with conviction.

Lizzie's heart swelled with gratitude and determination as she met his gaze. "Thank you for believing in me."

-

As the sun began to dip below the towering cityscape, Lizzie pushed open the door to her small loft in downtown Seoul. She kicked off her shoes and plopped onto her well-loved sofa, dropping her bag by the door with a thud. Just as she closed her eyes and sighed with relief, her phone buzzed on in her pocket. She unlocked the screen to see a new message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Lizzie, it’s Chan. Got your number from the trainer. Just wanted to let you know you’ll be meeting someone from the group tomorrow morning at 7 AM in the practice room.

Lizzie’s lips curved into a small smile. She quickly typed a reply.

Lizzie: Hi, Chan. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

surprise!

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut, roommates to lovers

wc: 2.7k

warnings: humping, dirty talk, oral (f), squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: aight listen - i needed some time to process his new look and now i'm wet for him. he has a tongue piercing in this fic bcs ever since i gave one to rockstar!hyunjin i can't stop thinking about it (and tattoos). he is the moment😩💅🏻❤️

~ masterlist

Fucking hell.

Your hot roommate somehow managed to become hotter than he already was even after he gave you a good scare.

You were used to seeing his fluffy hair flying around everywhere, him tying it up while he was painting or cooking, putting it behind his ear constantly as a habit.

But the hair you were so fond of (even though you found strands of it everywhere in your apartment) was completely gone.

Without any prior announcement too.

You were just finishing up with dinner when he came home, strolling in casually and greeting you as he opened the fridge to grab a cold drink.

You greeted back, not even looking up as you were concentrating on cutting up some veggies.

You made small talk as always, you were kinda close and didn't mind sharing your day to each other over a meal.

Something was weird, you noticed out of the corner of your eye and when you lifted your head to look up, you almost cut your finger off.

"What the fuck?!" you practically screamed and Hyunjin laughed before smirking at you.

"Surprise?"

"Damn right it is." you stared at him in disbelief.

It was different. His long hair was comforting to you as sometimes he even let you braid it or play with it when you hung out and seeing him now was a shock.

His facial features stood out more and you couldn't help but admire his jawline, his nose, his eyebrows, heck even his ears were pretty.

It was unfair that he looked so good.

"I think our dinner's burning." he smirked knowingly and you shrieked, quickly turning the stove off and moving the pot aside.

Even as you sat down to eat, your eyes were glued to him.

"I'm guessing you don't hate it since you keep looking at me." he said, smirking again.

"Hate it? Far from that. I think you look h- well... um." you bit your tongue.

You never made a move on him even though you wanted to so many times, he drove you crazy every day, testing your mental strength as he strolled around shirtless, sometimes only with a towel wrapped around his middle, still wet from his shower. And you had a feeling he knew what he was doing, he was playing with you and he knew you were gonna eat out of his hand no matter what he does.

If you say it now, it'll be there on the table, laid out for him to make the next move.

You were sure the sly bastard was teasing you constantly.

"I look what? Say it." he dared you.

You put your fork down, wiping your mouth as you looked at him again.

"Hot. I think you look hot." you said, your heart beating out of your chest.

"Damn, did I have to shave my head for you to finally admit that?" he smirked and yes you were furious.

But you were also turned on at the way he was eye-fucking you and licking his plump lips, making sure to put his pretty tongue piercing on display.

Fuck, it was even hotter now.

"Shut up." you threw a napkin at him and he laughed at your feeble attempt to chase him away.

"Make me." he bit on his lip.

You didn't expect that.

"Make you?" your thighs pressed together, your stomach filling up with butterflies as you felt arousal gather on your pussy.

"Yeah, shut me up. Be creative with it." he smirked.

You observed him shortly as you felt annoyance and arousal rise inside you, wilding like the sea that was constantly spilling between your legs.

You stood up, pushing your chair back, almost making it fall down before you rounded the table to his side.

Hyunjin had a shit-eating grin on his face, manspreading in the chair as he looked up at you as if he was inviting you to sit in his lap.

You grabbed his chin making his eyes flutter instantly as you leaned in closer to his face.

God, he was beautiful.

"What are you waiting for, doll?" he smirked.

God, he angered you so badly.

So you crashed your lips on his, finally tasting him, feeling his soft lips move against yours.

Your hand slid on his face, his soft skin under your fingertips as you made your way to his hair.

Hyunjin was smirking into the kiss as you swiped your tongue over his lips, pushing it into his mouth to play with him, your hand finally touching his hair and it was surprisingly soft as you caressed him.

Hyunjin's large hands grabbed at you, pulling you into his lap as you whimpered into his mouth.

The kiss was sloppy, full of slurping sounds and teeth clanking occasionally but neither of you cared.

"Creative enough?" you asked when you parted for air, his lips were swollen and glistening with spit and you were sure yours were the mirror image.

"I think you can do better." he noted, the annoying smirk playing on his lips as always.

You held his face as you crashed your lips on his once more, kissing him harder and Hyunjin gripped at your hips before his hands slid down to your ass.

You bit on his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and making him groan. His hand lifted up as he smacked your ass and you accidentally grinded against his growing bulge.

You froze for a moment and he looked at you hazily, his cheeks rosy, and a lazy smile, he looked even more edible than moments ago.

"Backing out?" he asked.

"N-no." you whined as he gripped your ass and pressed you into him, slightly moving against your core.

"Want me to take the lead, doll?" he asked with a smirk and you really didn't want to give him the satisfaction but he was already on it, leaning in as he started kissing your neck.

You shivered as he massaged your ass, slowly moving his clothed length against you and making your panties even more soaked.

Your hands were on his head and the back of his neck, touching him and getting used to the feel of it.

Hyunjin bit into your flesh, sucking on it and you wanted so badly to pull on his hair but you couldn't so you gripped the back of his neck, making him whine as his hands traveled under your shirt.

You were glad you didn't wear your bra as Hyunjin went straight for your tits, grabbing at them and playing with your nipples as he kept leaving marks on your neck.

You literally thought in that moment that he was going to make you cum in your panties, you felt so pathetic for letting him win so fast but he stopped all his movement, making you whine.

"Shh, doll." Hyunjin shushed you, grabbing your shirt and sliding it off, tossing it somewhere aside.

He looked at your tits as if he was in a trance but before you let him come near them, you tugged on his shirt so he took it off.

He had a few tattoos here and there and you wanted to press your lips to every single one, trace them with your tongue as if you were drawing on him.

Hyunjin didn't notice your mesmerized face because he was focused on your breasts, he finally leaned in and wrapped his lips around your nipple, moaning as he started sucking.

You whimpered, throwing your head back as you ran your fingers on the back of his neck.

Hyunjin's tongue lapped at your nipple, his hand sliding down into your panties.

You jolted a little, you didn't think he was this impatient but his fingers already found your puffy clit as he pressed into it and started moving them in circles.

You gripped his head, holding him down as he sucked on your breast harshly, making him whine around you as he sped up with his fingers.

"So wet for me, you're dripping." he ran his fingertips on your folds, gathering your wetness before he pulled them out of your panties and brought them to your mouth.

"Taste yourself." he smirked and you complied, opening your mouth as you moved against him, needing to feel anything as you sucked on his fingers.

He kept smirking as his other hand gripped your breasts, playing with them and you were just about to explode.

You gripped his wrist and pulled his hand away.

"I need more." you whimpered and he chuckled.

"Mm. What would that be?" he wrapped his arms around you, leaning in to kiss your collarbone and your breasts.

"Hyunjin, stop teasing me or so help me god-"

"What are you gonna do doll?" he smirked up at you, pressing your chest against his skin.

He was so warm and you wanted to drown in him.

You were about to get so annoyed with his teasing as you stood up, but Hyunjin followed you quickly, one arm wrapped around you as he moved the plates aside, making room to sit you up on the table.

You gasped in shock, looking back at the half finished dinner Hyunjin just pushed on the side, his fingers hooking into your pants.

"Here? Hyunjin, we eat here." you tried to scold him but he giggled.

"Oh, I'm gonna eat." he smirked, pulling your pants down and throwing them aside as you whimpered.

"Hyun!" your voice came out high pitched as he ran his fingers over the wet patch on your panties.

"All this for me?" he stared at you and you shivered under his gaze.

"Y-yeah." you swallowed, shivering in anticipation.

Hyunjin spread your legs before kneeling down, making you grip the table when his breath hit your core.

He leaned in, his lips attaching to your clothed clit as he licked at it, making the fabric even more wet before he started sucking on it.

"H-Hyun!" you moaned, your hand flying to his head to push him into you.

He smirked against you, tongue lapping over your folds as his nose pressed into your clit.

"P-please." you moaned, already grinding against his perfect face.

"Ah fuck it, I'm still hungry." he teased before pushing your panties aside, his tongue gathering your sweet juices as he moaned into you.

Your legs trembled as he started to suck on your clit, moaning constantly as if he was the one getting head, not you.

You kept running your hands on his soft hair, pushing him closer to you as he ate you out teasingly slowly, his tongue lapping at your insides, drinking from you, his piercing driving you crazy.

You needed more, faster, deeper and your legs started closing around his head but Hyunjin gripped your thighs, forcing you open as he kept eating you out like you were the last meal he was ever going to have.

You grinded against his face, his nose kept pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and soon your legs were shaking.

You kept him pressed against you and he moaned into your pussy, making out with your lower lips and you were losing your mind.

It didn't take much longer for you to explode on his face and tongue and Hyunjin eagerly licked it all up.

"Fuck." you groaned as he lifted up, licking around his swollen lips.

He looked at you as if he still wasn't satiated, as if he was going to devour you whole and at that moment you wanted him to.

"I could do that for hours." he whined, hand gripping at his obvious bulge.

"Why didn't you?" you smirked, still breathless.

"I wanna fuck your little pussy until it's shaped like my cock." he said as he pulled his length out, making you whimper and gasp at his words.

He gave himself a few tugs and you stared at his pretty cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

He gripped your panties and pulled them off before standing closer to you.

"H-Hyunjin!" you moaned when he pressed his tip on your folds.

"Gonna be a good doll and take it?" he smirked and you nodded.

He chuckled before pushing in, making you moan loudly as your nails dug into the table beneath you.

It wasn't the most comfortable thing to lay on but the feeling of Hyunjin stretching you with his cock and filling you up so perfectly made your mind cloudy.

He leaned closer to you and you gripped at his arms immediately as he held your hips, thrusting into you semi-fast.

"F-fuck..." you moaned, already on edge and it was embarrassing.

"How many times have you fantasized about me, hm babygirl?" Hyunjin smirked as he pressed himself closer to you, his cock massaging your cervix as his happy trail rubbed against your skin.

You opened your lips to speak as he held your hip, his other hand lifting up to put your hair behind your ear.

Before you could answer, your pussy clenched around him and you came all over his cock, tears flooding your eyes instantly.

"You came already?" he laughed mockingly as you dug your nails in his shoulders.

"I- I-" you were about to actually cry. This has never happened to you.

"It's okay doll. I know you're desperate for my cock. I think that makes you even cuter." he smirked as he started fucking you harder, the table with all the plates and glasses clattering.

"Ah!" you moaned repeatedly, not able to form any coherent words or sentences as he fucked you dumb on your kitchen table.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as Hyunjin continued pounding into you, leaning closer again so he could grunt in your ear as you touched his soft short hair again, at this point the new look was making you feel even more aroused.

"I knew this pussy was greedy for my cock. Look how she's sucking me in." he looked down at where his length disappeared inside you so you followed his eyes, whimpering when you got the visual of his cock covered in your white cream fucking in and out of you.

"Shit!" you clenched around him again as he looked up at you.

"You gonna cum for me again?" he smirked, fucking you with even more force, the plates were dangerously close to the edge of the table.

"Y-yes!" you whimpered, completely dizzy and out of your mind as you squirted around his cock, your pussy gripping him so tightly that Hyunjin couldn't help it as he twitched inside you.

You scratched at his back as he dug his nails into your hips, filling you up with spurts of hot cum.

A crash startled you as he lazily fucked into you, trying to hold onto his high as long as possible and both of you looked up, seeing that one of the plates had fallen on the floor, smashing into pieces.

"Oh." Hyunjin groaned as he caged your head with his arms before he leaned down to kiss you, pressing his wet body against yours.

Both of you were sticky and wet and you couldn't believe you just let your hot roommate fuck you on the table in your kitchen.

He pulled out and chuckled at the mess.

"Wow you did a number on my back." Hyunjin noticed his reflection in the window, his back red with scratches.

"That's cause you didn't have any hair I could pull on." you smirked as you sat up.

"The way you held onto me I wouldn't have any left." he smirked back and you slapped his arm, giggling at him.

"I take it your really like my new hair." he leaned his hands on the table, caging you in again.

"I really like you." you said, your face heating up.

"I know you do, doll. Why do you think I've been teasing you? I was just waiting for you to finally react." he winked and you wanted to smack him but he caught your hand and held it.

"I really like you too." he said before kissing you.

"We should clean up the mess." you said as you leaned back.

"We should. After round two. Or more. Who knows." Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows before lifting you up in his arms and making you squeal as he carried you towards your bedroom.

You were in for a long night.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @jeonginslefthand @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @simpforleeknaur @schniti-is-in-the-house

[catiuskaa]

THIS IS SO 🥺🥺🥺 i swear i will eat jisung alive qjbfiebfiwkd 100% nomnomnom

Expecto Patronum {2}

<< part 1.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Tags: anxiety, talk of mental health, fluff

Summary: as promised you meet up with Jisung after soundcheck.

Soundcheck goes by in a blur and before you know it, your eyes lock one last time with Jisung before he turns around and leaves the stage with the rest of the members. You nervously play with your bracelet and wait a bit for everyone to scatter around before approaching the tall and muscled security man that Jisung had pointed out to you.

To your surprise you don’t have to say a word, the man just smiles down at you and gestures to one of the exits on the left. You nod and follow him, nervously glancing around you if anyone notices, but no one does. Everyone is too excited about soundcheck, chatting, giggling and some are getting drinks and food at the little stations on the side of the arena.

‘Are you alright?’ the man speaks up when you follow him through a door that says; staff only. ‘You seemed to be really going through it back there.’ 

‘Oh, uhm,’ you stutter, surprised he both noticed and cared. ‘I’m feeling better now, still a little anxious, but I’ll be okay. Thank you.’ 

‘You don’t have to worry about meeting them, you know,’ the man says, surprising you again. ‘They’re some of the nicest idols I’ve ever met.’ 

You look up at him and he smiles kindly at you. 

‘One of them even helped the staff carrying a heavy suitcase,’ he continues. ‘You rarely see that happen.’ 

‘That must have been Chan,’ you chuckle, already knowing the leader of the group is known for helping anyone whenever he can. 

‘If you say so,’ the man laughs, leading you through another long hallway. ‘We’re almost there, do you need a moment or are you okay with me knocking on the door right away?’ 

You blink at him, once more surprised by his kindness. 

‘My sister has anxiety, so I know a thing or two,’ he winks at you when he notices the look on your face. ‘It’s just around the corner, tell me when you’re ready, okay?’ 

You nod and take a deep breath, thinking happy thoughts. ‘I’m ready.’ 

When you round the corner, the first thing you see is Jisung. He’s leaning against the wall beside a door and scrolling on his phone, humming softly. He is still in the same outfit as before and doesn’t notice you until the security guard clears his throat when you’re only a few feet away from him. 

Jisung looks up from his phone and a radiant smile appears on his face when he spots you. His phone is stuffed in his pocket and he pushes himself off the wall to walk towards you. 

‘You came!’ he cheers, opening his arms for a hug. 

‘Of course I did,’ you say, your voice trembling slightly as you try to fight the nerves when he comes closer. 

When his arms come around you and you’re pulled in a tight hug, you only tense for a moment before slightly relaxing against him. He smells absolutely divine, a bit like lavender, cedar and spices. Normally you don’t like hugging strangers, but Jisung somehow doesn’t feel like one. 

‘You okay?’ Jisung asks, his hands rubbing your back. 

‘Yes,’ you murmur against his chest, breathing in his scent. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Hmhmh,’ he hums. ‘Just breathe for a minute, yeah? Expecto patronum.’ 

You have no idea how long the two of you stand like that in the empty hallway, just breathing. Jisung keeps rubbing circles on your back and every now and then he hums a soft melody. When all the anxiety has left your body, you let out a relieved sigh and slowly pull back from the hug. 

‘Thank you,’ you smile up at him, fighting the urge to poke his cheeks when he grins back. 

‘Anytime, I know exactly how you feel.’ 

You frown at that, not liking at all how he too fights with anxiety. You know he did of course, it’s very well known among Stays, but you always feel for everyone who goes through the same thing you do. It’s a curse really. 

‘Nooo, don’t frown,’ Jisung whines dramatically. ‘Give me that smile again.’ 

You immediately giggle and are rewarded by another radiant smile from your idol. You try not to think too much about how you’re actually in front of him, how you hugged him for a long time and how he comforted you like your life is a fanfiction. 

‘That’s better, come, let’s go inside,’ Jisung says, grabbing your hand in his before opening the door and pulling you with him. 

You’re about to protest, but it’s already too late. The door closes behind you with a thud and suddenly you’re in the Stray Kids green room, dressing room or whatever this room really is. It’s huge, there’s racks with clothes everywhere, food is scattered over the table in the corner and there are two big couches, one being occupied by Felix. The blonde is scrolling on his phone and doesn’t look up when you come in. 

‘Relax,’ Jisung whispers in your ear. ‘Felix doesn’t bite and the others are on a coffee run I think.’ 

‘Even Chan?’ you whisper back, remembering he doesn’t like coffee. 

Jisung laughs, catching Felix’s attention. 

‘Oh, hi there,’ the Australian greets you with his deep voice and a bright smile. 

Fuck. 

‘Yep even Chan, he’s probably getting one of those sweet frappuccino’s,’ Jisung answers your question as he pulls you along to where Felix is sitting. 

‘Lixie, this is-’ Jisung’s eyes widen. ‘Oh my god, I don’t think I even asked your name yet?’ 

Felix laughs and you quickly join him, bursting out in a fit of giggles at the sight of his shocked face. 

‘It’s okay Hannie,’ you laugh. ‘I didn’t really introduce myself either, but I’m Y/N.’ 

‘Beautiful name, nice to meet you Y/N,’ Jisung says, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of your hand, almost like he had done earlier. 

‘Such a gentleman he is,’ Felix snorts. ‘But I agree, it’s nice to meet you Y/N, I hope you’re feeling better.’ 

You’re about to answer when the door bursts open and the rest of the members loudly enter the room, their hands filled with drinks. It sounds like they’re discussing something about a pokemon, but you’re not sure, it could also be about an anime. 

Jisung squeezes your hand and pulls you closer to his body as if to shield you from his very loud members. You hadn’t noticed your heart rate going up again and you feel absolutely pathetic when Jisung turns his back to his members to stand in front of you, his eyes concerned as they meet yours. 

‘Breathe Y/N, we’re all just human remember. It was just the door, nothing is going to happen. You’re safe here.’ 

It’s only then that you notice you’re shaking and almost hyperventilating again. For fucks sake. You squeeze your eyes shut and curse your stupid anxiety ridden brain for reacting like this. 

‘Shit, sorry,’ you hear a concerned voice. 

‘We didn’t mean to spook her Sungie,’ another says. 

‘Is she okay? Fuck no one should panic like this over a door, right? Did something happen?’ 

You smile at that, but keep your eyes closed. ‘It’s just a bad case of anxiety, no worries.’ 

‘Well I am worried,’ the same voice that cursed says, it sounds like Bang Chan, but you can’t be sure. 

‘Chan, back off,’ Jisung says, proving your brain is still working somehow. 

‘It’s fine,’ you whisper. ‘I just need a minute.’ 

‘That’s okay. Would you like another hug?’ Jisung asks. 

You nod and arms are immediately wrapped around you, Jisung’s scent enveloping you once again as you bury your nose against his shirt. 

‘Uhm, I could help?’ you hear Felix softly ask. ‘It usually works for you too.’ 

‘Y/N?’ Jisung whispers, rubbing your back. ‘Is it okay for Felix to hug you as well? For me it's always really grounding to be in a hug sandwich, the weight feels safe an-’ 

‘Yes,’ you interrupt him. ‘Thats cool, it’ll be like being wrapped in my weighted blanket.’ 

Felix chuckles from behind you and then you feel a warmth against your back as he wraps himself around you as well. Immediately it feels easier to breathe and you let out a sigh of relief. It doesn’t take long for you to calm down once you're wrapped up into their warmth, their slow breathing, calming yours. 

‘Better?’ Jisung whispers, his chin leaning on the top of your head. 

‘Much, thank you,’ you reply, tightening your arms around his waist. 

‘How about I get you some tea?’ Felix offers.’ I think we have some of Jisungs valerian tea bags somewhere.’

‘Oh, no, I’m fine,’ you say. ‘I wouldn’t want to-’ 

‘I already made some tea,’ a voice calls out from behind you and Felix. ‘With valerian.’ 

‘Aww aren’t you cute Min,’ Jisung coos over your head to his friend and band member. 

Felix slowly lets go of you, your back immediately feeling cold and you nearly pout at the loss of his warmth. Jisung holds you a little longer before leading you down to the couch Felix was sitting on before. The others are sprawled out on the second couch and the floor, each of them is on their phone as they sip their coffees. 

‘I’m sorry for being so silly,’ you apologize with heated cheeks, sitting down next to Jisung. 

Chan, who had stood up to get a notebook, sits down at your other side and nudges your knee with his. ‘No need to say sorry, we’ve seen first hand what anxiety can do to a person.’ 

‘I just hate being a burden,’ you say, a little softer. 

Chan stiffens beside you and turns to face you, his hand lifting like he wants to place it on your thigh, but he hesitates and puts it on his own instead, probably afraid it would freak you out. 

‘You could never be a burden, not to us. Whoever made you believe you are, should get their head examined and I’d gladly talk with them,’ he says, a determined look in his eyes. 

Emotions clock in your throat and you look down at your hands, afraid you’ll cry if you keep looking at him. He really means it. 

‘Calm down Channie,’ Jisung says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

‘Sorry,’ Chan’s ears turn red. ‘I just feel very protective over Stays.’ 

‘I know you do, it’s one of the things we love stays about you,’ you smile, looking up at him again. ‘But you can’t save everyone or carry all that weight on your shoulders all the time.’ 

‘Do you need saving?’ Changbin asks from his spot on the floor across from you. 

‘Not really, I mean, not in the way you’re thinking,’ you answer honestly, leaning against Jisung’s side. 

It’s crazy how comfortable you feel around him.

‘See, that still worries me,’ Chan says, biting his lip. 

It’s quiet for a few seconds as you debate what to say, or if you should say anything at all. 

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Jisung asks then, his thumb rubbing circles on your upper arm. 

You shake your head and give him a sad smile. ‘Probably best if I don’t, unless you want another anxiety attack on your hands.’ 

‘Not helping,’ Chan mutters and he gets up to pace around the room, his iced coffee forgotten on the table.

‘No, no, it’s nothing bad like that. It’s just my mental health and you actually help a lot with that,’ you hurry to say, hoping to get the older member smiling again. ‘You help a lot of stay with that actually.’ 

‘And you help us with ours,’ Jisung says and multiple hums of agreement go around the room. ‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful! How about I play you something on my guitar?’ 

‘Not sure how that’s cheerful,’ Seungmin says, slurping on his iced coffee. 

‘Yeah and it’s also not talking, Sungie,’ Minho adds, smirking at his friend. 

‘Are you going to serenade the poor girl, Ji, you sure you up for that? Maybe I should do it instead,’ Jeongin joins the teasing. 

You giggle behind your hand when Jisung pouts and the tension in the room seems to disappear. Chan sits down again and Hyunjin gets up to get Jisung his guitar. 

‘Any requests?’ Jisung asks when he tunes his guitar. 

‘Uhhh,’ you blink at him, your mind goes blank. ‘I suddenly can’t think of a single song?’ 

They all laugh and Felix leans over to whisper something in Jisungs ear. His eyes light up and he nods, pulling at the strings of his guitar until he’s satisfied it sounds the way he wants. 

‘Ready?’ he asks. 

‘Nope,’ you grin back. ‘I’m about to be serenaded by you, how could I ever be ready for that?’ 

Jisungs shrugs and starts playing a very familiar melody. Immediately tears fill your eyes and your hands fly to your mouth to cover your gasp. The others chuckle at your reaction and Felix even takes out his phone to make a video. 

When Jisung starts singing it’s like everything around you disappears and the only thing you see is him. His eyes lock with yours and it feels like he’s singing right to your soul. 

'Cause you are

You're perfect in my eyes

You are

Don't ever doubt yourself

I know that feeling too, I've been inside the dark

I've never been so empty, hopeless

But no, it isn't true

'Cause know that all the stars are by your side

You’re full on sobbing when everyone joins Jisung for the chorus. It’s the perfect song for them to sing to you and a feeling of extreme gratitude floods you. You’re so unbelievably lucky to have this moment and it will be something you can think of the next time you’re feeling down. 

Felix puts his phone down and pulls you on his lap, hugging you tightly. The action makes Jisung frown slightly, but he keeps on singing, his eyes never leaving yours. Everyone joins for the chorus once more and you wipe your wet cheeks with your palms. 

When the song ends, Jisung puts his guitar aside and Felix hands you over to him like you weigh nothing at all. 

‘I didn’t mean to make you cry,’ he whispers, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head. 

‘I would probably have cried with any song,’ you sniff. ‘That was beautiful, thank you Jisung.’ 

‘Did his serenade work?’ Minho asks cheekily, diving out of the way when Chan reaches over to slap him over the head. 

‘Definitely,’ you laugh, leaning your head against Jisung’s chest. ‘I’d propose right now if I had a ring.’ 

Felix chuckles and Hyunjin pulls one of his rings off his fingers, tossing it to you. You don’t catch it of course as you didn’t see it coming and everyone laughs once more. 

‘I tried,’ Hyunjin sighs, pouting. 

‘Maybe you can give me your phone number instead?’ Jisung asks in your ear. 

When you look at him with big surprised eyes, it causes another fit of laughter to go through the group. ‘I mean, so you can text me when you get back to your seat, and also if you just ever need to talk.’ 

‘Don’t I need your phone number for that?’ you joke. 

Jisung’s ears turn red and you take pity on him, holding up your hand. ‘If you give me your phone, I’ll put my number in.’ 

His phone is in your hands a heartbeat later and you giggle, typing in your number and adding your name. 

‘Wait, wait,’ Jisung says when you give him the phone back. ‘We need a picture for you as well.’ 

‘So smooth,’ Felix mutters beside you with a deep chuckle. 

Jisung ignores him and opens up the camera on his phone, holding his arms out to get the both of you in the frame. 

‘I look all red and blotchy from crying,’ you protest, your cheeks heating up even more when you see yourself cuddled up in Jisungs arms. 

Jisung huffs. ‘Hush, baby, you’re adorable.’ You flush even more at the pet name and Jisung chuckles in your ear. ‘Smile, darling.’ 

You do as he says and he quickly takes the photo, happily setting it as your contact photo before showing you. To your surprise it’s actually cute and when you voice your thoughts, Jisung places his chin on your shoulder. 

‘Course it is, baby, it’s you and me.’

a/n: hehe I hope you enjoyed part 2 lovelies! I spend almost the entire day writing this for you before I throw myself in my new series (:

Big thank you to @staylovesmiley for letting me yap and brainstorm with you while writing <3

Taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @helialaufeyson28